


Escape from Hellview

by DyslexicSquirrel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM Scene, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bottom Dean Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, For reasons, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Knotting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mpreg is mentioned but not present, Older Castiel (Supernatural), Omega Dean Winchester, Past Castiel/April Kelly, Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Private Investigator Dean Winchester, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Torture, Younger Dean Winchester, depictions of vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24209266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyslexicSquirrel/pseuds/DyslexicSquirrel
Summary: Twenty-six year old Dean Winchester works for his dad’s PI firm. Winchester Investigations gets hired to look into a bunch of missing omegas and when they get a little too close, taking down one of the smaller branches of the larger operation, Dean gets taken as punishment.Fourty-two year old Castiel James Novak left Seattle after a divorce—left the police force, too, after years of undercover work and relocated to a small town in Northern Oregon  to open a bar.John Winchester asks his old friend to come out of retirement to help find his son. Castiel just needs to locate Dean and get him out of wherever he’s being kept, hopefully before it’s too late.Not falling in love with his friend’s kid, who’s more than a decade younger than him should go without saying. Right?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 128
Kudos: 421
Collections: Destiel Omegaverse Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the Destiel Omegaverse Big Bang. I had so much fun with this bang and my [Neinor's](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24208186/chapters/58316377) art is amazing, I cry.
> 
> Thanks to Cassie for being my beta!

Dean groaned into the concrete floor beneath his cheek before flopping over onto his back. His limbs felt heavy and his head ached worse than it had that time he drank too much Goldschlager--which was any amount of Goldschlager, to be honest. Felt like his eyes were glued shut and he tried instead to figure out why the glands in his neck throbbed and everything smelled weird, like antiseptic and dust and old fear. 

Attempting to open his eyes again only made more pain spike through his skull when the light from the single, bald bulb dangling from the ceiling hit his eyeballs, and he squeezed them shut with a weak grunt. The inside of his throat felt like it was covered in sandpaper. He tried to work up some spit to swallow, but his mouth was dry as a desert and tasted like chemicals. 

What the fuck had happened? And why was his back so cold? It took a few moments for his fuzzy brain to realize he was naked. Probably would have panicked if he wasn’t so out of it. He concentrated on breathing, in and out, nice and steady, trying to focus. That was hard enough without thinking about why he was wearing his birthday suit in—--he cracked a lid—the basement in a horror movie. 

The last thing Dean remembered was texting Sam that he had his stupid fudge ripple ice cream and it’d be in the freezer. He’d only agreed to get it because his baby bro said he was coming home for the weekend and really wanted his favorite ice cream waiting for him. Sam was whinier than a five-year-old, even though he was twenty-two and in law school. Dean had never been able to say no to Sam, so instead of pointing out that Sam could stop at a store on the way and get it his damn self, Dean went and picked it up. He should have taken his car. Would have, but the 7-11 was just around the corner and he hadn’t filled up the tank on the Impala. He hated driving his Baby on fumes. Sure, he could have just filled up the tank  _ then  _ gotten the ice cream, but he’d been a lazy son of a bitch and now he was—

“Well, well, well. Welcome back to the land of the living, sweetheart,” a voice said to his left, following the creaking hinges on the door. Dean went still. He wasn’t about to move and let this jackass think he was afraid. Or modest. Dude could look at his dick all he wanted. Dean had gone streaking across his high school’s football field senior year; he didn’t care. “We had to dose you a little more than normal. Doc thought you’d be asleep at least for another few hours.” 

Eyes still closed, sounding bored, he drawled, “Maybe you need another doctor then. One you got obviously doesn’t know what the fuck they’re talking about.” 

Mystery Bad Guy chuckled like a Bond villain. “I’d been warned you had a mouth on you. That will need to be corrected.” He shook his finger at Dean like he was an errant child. “Of course, we do have clients who enjoy breaking their new toys themselves.” 

Son of a bitch. Dean knew where he was. Well, not  _ exactly _ , but he knew who had him. Or vaguely anyway. He and his dad had never quite managed to find names of anyone outside the small branch of this shithole organization they had tracked down to Coos Bay. 

Matt Pike’s parents had hired Winchester Investigations to find their son after they kept getting the same old line from the cops in Portland—no new leads; we’re sorry; we’ll let you know as soon as we find anything. The Pikes knew as well as Dean and his dad that after three days with no leads? The cops weren’t going to find anything and their seventeen-year-old kid wasn’t likely to come home. The cops knew omegas were disappearing, the feds had even gotten involved because cases were popping up across state lines, but they kept hitting brick walls. 

Dean and his dad, though, weren't as constrained by pesky things like the law and Charlie was a genius when it came to finding digital trails. If it hadn’t been for her they might never have found the reflection of a partial plate in surveillance footage from an ATM near where Matt disappeared. That had led to a creepy white van (okay, it hadn’t been creepy for any other reason than it was used to transport kidnapped omegas) and when Charlie followed it through traffic cams, she saw it head south to Coos Bay and pull into what looked like an abandoned warehouse. 

Matt, along with ten other omegas of various ages, had been found in cages waiting for transport to who knows where in the hull of a ship. They were half starved and out of their minds on drugs to make them docile. 

Dean wasn’t in a cage. And he wasn’t doped up besides whatever they used to knock him out when they jumped him (he didn’t think—--hoped), which already seemed to be burning through his system if he was awake early. And Baddy McBad sounded awful close. Smelled like a beta. Dean would put money on the fact he could take him, without knowing what he looked like, if he could get his limbs to cooperate. But they felt attached to the ground. He could get his fingers to twitch if he concentrated enough. Okay, he had to admit that he had maybe been given something besides chloroform. Did people still use that? 

Dean might be an omega, but his dad had been teaching him and his brother to fight since they were kids. Designation didn’t mean shit in a fight when your opponent had no training, even sometimes when they did. In Dean’s case, him being an omega sometimes gave him an edge because he was underestimated. 

He managed to crack his eyes open, though, without his brain screaming in horror, squinting against the light. His head lolled to the side and he saw a white guy in a suit crouching next to him, hands braced on his knees. He had a smile on his face, the light making his balding head look shiny. “Dr. Ellicott comes very highly recommended and since he’ll be providing your medical care should you get hurt, you might not want to insult him.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dean croaked, glaring at Baldy. It had the added benefit of keeping some of the harsh light out of his eyes. 

“Good boy.” Dean barely kept a sneer from curling his lips. He couldn’t expect anything else from people who sold omegas like meat. “You can call me Zachariah.” 

“How ‘bout I call you ‘dickhead’?” So, his filter wasn’t working so great right now. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. The smile melted off Zachariah’s face like it had never been there and Dean felt a touch of worry slither down his spine. Guy looked unhinged. 

“Now, that’s not nice. Bitch like you should have some manners. Your old man and that brother of yours have been going too easy on you.” 

“Don’t you talk about them,” he growled, trying to wedge a hand onto the floor to push himself up. The limb was shaking too much and he collapsed back against the floor, the concrete unforgiving when his shoulder slammed into it. 

Zachariah clucked his tongue. “You might have woken up ahead of schedule, which is a shame because we were all so enjoying watching you sleep, princess. Among other things,” he tacked on with a smirk. “Who knew your skin would be so soft?” 

Dean spit in his face. The beta wiped it from his skin with his pocket square. Dean only had a moment, barely long enough to take another breath, before the other man struck, wrapping his hand around Dean’s neck and squeezing. His hand was so damn big that his fingers and thumb put pressure on Dean’s scent glands. He choked and went limp at the same time, not even able to try and pry Zachariah’s hold loose. 

“You need to be careful, Dean,” he remembered his dad telling him when he was six, resting a hand on his shoulder, leaning down so they were eye to eye. Sammy was only two and tottering around in the backyard while their dad taught Dean basic self defense. “More careful than your brother will ever have to be. It’s not fair, but that’s how it is. You’re an omega. That doesn’t make you weak, but it does mean you have vulnerabilities that alphas and betas don’t.” 

Dean had nodded, not really understanding, not yet. It would be a few years before some alpha called out to him while he was walking down the street with Sammy, his brother’s hand clutched in his as they walked home from school. 

“You smell real nice, honey. Why dontcha come over here and sit on my lap?” the man had shouted, the female alpha next to him telling him to knock it off, but she’d been laughing. Dean had been eleven at the time, Sammy only seven, and he’d ignored his brother’s questions about why Dean had started dragging him home at a run. Four months later, two months after his twelfth birthday, Dean’s first heat had started in the middle of the night. “Early bloomer” they called him. 

It had been three days of hell. It happened to some omegas when they started puberty early—he had cramps that felt like his outsides were being ripped out and a fever he thought would burn him alive. Dean was more than happy to take whatever it was that would stop it from happening again and his dad’s friend Bobby got hold of blackmarket birth control after the doctor’s told his dad Dean was too young and had he tried exercise.? He learned later of the side effects of such prolonged use of artificial hormones, but he kept taking them anyway. 

What was possible infertility? It didn’t affect his sex life and what would he do with a kid, anyway? He wasn’t exactly dad material and no one he’d ever been with wanted anything long term with Dean anyway. He’d gotten close with another omega, Lisa, and her kid, Ben, but eventually she got tired of the hours he kept and settled down with a beta who was an accountant and wore sweaters and khakis. Finding himself in a situation like this made Dean glad it had fizzled out; he wouldn’t want to put her or Ben through wondering where he was. 

And he had sure never been the type of omega who wanted to play househusband to some knot head alpha— it wasn’t in his makeup. His dad started teaching him to fight when he was young, making sure he knew his limitations—his weaknesses. But also that he knew himself and where his strengths lay. He was good at fighting, not so great at relationships. Though getting himself kidnapped was putting that into questions. Not to mention breaking his dad’s golden rule. 

“First rule,” his dad had told him all those years ago, “ _ never _ let anyone grab your neck.” 

Dean hadn’t let anyone get the better of him since he was sixteen. Some schoolyard bully sucker punched him in the back of the head. Even then he had managed to pull it together and kick the alpha’s ass while he was too busy gloating about how he’d taken the uppity omega down a peg.

But this? He hadn’t ever realized  _ this  _ was what it would feel like. He managed through sheer force of will to raise an arm, but only managed to slap at the beta’s hand once, weakly, before it dropped to the ground. An influx of chemicals that were telling him to submit flooding his brain. Dean told them to get bent. 

Zachariah pulled Dean up by the hand on his throat as he started straightening. He loomed over Dean, transferring his hold to Dean’s hair to keep him more or less standing. Dean pulled in greedy lungfuls of air, coughing as black spots danced in front of his eyes. He was pushed into a wheelchair he hadn’t even noticed was there and sagged in the seat. 

“Naughty bitch,” Zachariah tsk-ed. Dean tried to tell him to fuck off, but the only thing that came out of his burning throat and the lassitude still suffusing him was a wheeze. The wheelchair was pushed forward, the beta behind him now, and Dean instinctively stiffened, trying to hunch down, make himself look smaller, and hating himself for it. 

“If you didn’t have an appointment with Dr. Ellicott, I’d see if Alastair would let me play with you for a while,” Zachariah whispered in Dean’s ear, his breath ghosting over the delicate skin of his neck. He wanted to gag, but he pushed the reaction down. “I can’t mark you up or do any permanent damage, but I can be very creative when I want to be.” 

“Bite me.” Not the most creative—or wise—comeback Dean had ever made, but he had almost asphyxiated. Sue him. Besides, Zach had already admitted he couldn’t mark him or do anything permanent. Bond biting went under the category of both. Also, who was Alastair? The asshole just laughed, ruffling Dean’s hair. He tried to pull his head away, but just slid down further in the chair. 

“Would that I could, pretty boy. But like I said, you and Dr. Ellicott need to spend some time together and make sure you’re as healthy as you look.” 

* * *

“No,” a gravelly voice insisted. Castiel scowled, his default expression since his divorce, but this time his expression had nothing to do with April and everything to do with the alpha sitting in his kitchen. “Absolutely not, John. I don’t do that anymore. I’m  _ retired _ .” 

“I wouldn’t be asking if I had any other options,” John said, looking weary. John’s hair was a mess from running his fingers through it, scruff thicker than normal, clothes wrinkled, and by the smell of him he hadn’t showered in at least a few days. Castiel wasn’t dressed much better, but his clothes—t-shirt, flannel shirt, jeans—were at least clean, his hair trimmed, his cheeks and chin shadowed but not overgrown. It was a damn sight better than what he used to wear slumming it with gangs and drug dealers. 

John had never been the type of alpha who dressed to impress—he wore clothes that were practical for chasing down criminals and staking out cheaters, long hours spent in cars and cheap motels. But today, quite frankly, he looked like hell. Made sense considering his son had been missing for two days, kidnapped by traffickers. It was too much of a coincidence for Dean to have been taken by anyone else after their last case and the way omegas kept disappearing in the area. 

Maybe Cas was being an insensitive asshole for saying no, but he didn’t think he could do it. His undercover work for the Seattle PD had ruined his marriage, his damn life. He’d only moved to Washington for April’s job, and it had made sense to go back to Oregon after, though going back to Portland where he grew up had felt like too much of a step backwards. It was quiet here in Rivergrove. He ran his bar, the White Gull, and that was it. That was his life now. He was alone, but that was fine, too. It was better that way. He clearly wasn’t made for relationships--of any kind--and at forty-two he was accepting that he would never Bond with anyone. Even his wife hadn’t wanted that. 

Castiel’s ex-wife had been—--still was—--an Omega Studies professor at the University of Washington. It was one of the reasons she gave for not wanting to Bond with him, but that turned out to be as much bullshit as their wedding vows. After cheating on him with another professor at UW and leaving him, she got Bonded and knocked up even before the wedding. He was better off alone. 

“I need your help. If I had any other options, do you think I’d be here? I haven’t seen you since Mary died.” It was a low blow bringing up his dead wife. The look that John turned on Castiel then was forlorn and despairing. The normally strong, stoic alpha looked as if his world were crumbling. And in a way it was. Cas hadn’t seen that particular look on his friend’s face since Mary’s funeral, which was also coincidentally the last time he had seen Dean, a skinny, little four year old, swamped in a black suit, holding his infant brother in his arms. His eyes had been red rimmed, but he wasn’t crying, not then anyway, not when Castiel had seen him. They stayed dry at the church, the graveyard, and the wake. Castiel remembered being surprised by that kind of strength in a young kid. 

And when John said softly, “He’s my son, Jimmy,” voice hoarse, using a name Castiel hadn’t gone by in a decade or more he knew he was screwed. He’d turned his back on his best friend, on everything from his old life, and John knew how to get to him better than anyone—--playing into the guilt he felt and his damn hero complex which had led Castiel into joining the force. This was as close to begging as Castiel had ever heard his friend come. He scowled and turned away, gripping the edge of the counter. He stared at the cabinets without seeing them, exhaling a harsh breathe, just short of a growl. 

“Show me what you’ve found,” he spat, grabbing the carafe from the coffeemaker to start a pot brewing like it had done something to piss him off. After the machine was sputtering to life, Castiel turned toward the kitchen table. It was covered in papers and John’s laptop was booting up. He pulled a chair out and flipped it, straddling it backwards, pulling the closest sheet of paper towards him. 

“This is everything we gathered on the part of the operation we shut down. Charlie’s still working to see what she can find, but they grabbed Dean not far from our house and there weren’t any cameras.” The other alpha rubbed his forehead, frustration filling every ounce of his body. It was understandable. John found people for a living and the one time it was personal, he was coming up empty. “She’s trying to run down information on every car that drove past that area around the time Dean went missing, but it’s like a needle in a haystack.” 

“Who’s Charlie?” He sifted through more of the files. 

“Resident tech genius. She doesn’t actually work for me, but I hire her as a consultant every now and then,” John replied, not taking his eyes from his computer screen. 

Castiel looked up. “What happened to Ash?” 

“He, uh, went off grid.”

“ _ Ash _ did?” Castiel had only met the man a few times, it had been easier to contact him if Castiel needed tech support when he was undercover since Ash consorted with a lot of folks on both sides of the law, but the strange, mulleted alpha had never been far from a computer or a phone or a tablet. They were like extensions of his body. 

“Something happened—and don’t ask me what cause I don’t have the first clue—and now he’s living out in the middle of the desert somewhere and no one’s heard from him in ‘bout a year.”

“How do you know he’s still alive?” John shrugged and Castiel let it drop. It wasn’t his concern what the man did. “This Charlie check any sites on the dark web known for listing omegas for sale?” 

John didn’t answer right away and Castiel glanced at him, finding John sitting stock still. Shit, he probably shouldn’t say things like that so casually around John. Castiel was contemplating trying to stumble through an apology when John cleared his throat and rotated the laptop so he could see the screen. “Yeah, she has. Nothing yet. She’s cross referencing missing omegas, in the right age range, and has alerts set in case any of them pop up.” 

Castiel hmmed, gesturing at the computer screen. As casually as he could, he asked, “What’s that?” 

John didn’t even try to look innocent. “Your new identity for when we find out where they’re selling Dean. You’ll need a cover. Charlie finished setting up your online presence this morning and your ID and credit cards are in my car.” 

“Where did you even get that picture?” He wasn’t even sure where it had come from. He was younger, clean shaven, probably when he was still on the force. 

John shrugged. “I have my ways.” 

Castiel tossed him a sour look. “You knew I’d agree, didn’t you?” 

“I’ve known you a long time, Jimmy,” John said with half a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“You’re an asshole.” He stood and went to pour them both coffee, John’s dry laughter following him. Castiel flipped him off then grabbed two mugs. He brought them back to the table and resumed his seat, sliding one to John. He sighed, resigned to doing something he swore he’d never do again. He stared into his mug. “I might not be any good at this anymore.” 

“It’s like riding a bike.” 

He pinned John with hard eyes. “You willing to bet Dean’s life on that?” 

John didn’t so much as pause when he said, “I trust you.” 

Castiel bit off a curse, glaring at the wall across from him, jaw clenched. “Gonna have to get somebody to watch the bar.” 

“Thanks. I’ll owe you one.” 

“You’ll owe me more than that. Now, go take a shower; you’re stinking up my house.”


	2. Chapter 2

They strapped him down to a table. Not the doc, his lazy alpha ass just watched along with Zachariah while two armed guards hooked Dean by his armpits and hefted him onto an exam table. He grunted when his back hit the surface a little harder than was necessary, glaring at Thug 1 and Thug 2. 

“You could have at least given me a gown. The stainless steel is cold on my ass,” he said to no one in particular since nobody seemed to be paying him any attention anyway, watching as the straps were secured around his arms and chest, and his feet were locked into stirrups. He did  _ not  _ want to think about why they were doing that. It would only make him freak out and he was trying very hard to stay calm. 

A nurse can in, wearing blue scrubs. She smelled omega and looked like she hadn’t had a decent meal in months. Her obvious poor health gave her scent a rotten note that made his nose wrinkle. The scrubs hung on her frame, her green eyes sunken, skin sallow, light brown hair that was pulled back in a bun looking like straw. She wheeled a cart over, the top covered in one of those blue hospital sheets they used to keep things from getting contaminated. Dean smiled at her, keeping his voice low when he spoke. The guards had moved back to the door (and he probably shouldn’t feel flattered that they needed two guards to watch him when he still couldn’t really move his limbs and was strapped down) and Zach and the doc were having a hushed conversation by the desk in the corner. “Hey. I’m Dean.” 

She didn’t even look at him, just stood there with her head bowed and her hands clasped in front of her. Dean let his head drop back and sighed up at the ceiling. He hadn’t really expected anything, but it had been worth a shot. She was the only other omega he’d seen since waking up. He heard the scuff of the doctor’s shoes against the linoleum and lifted his head again. The guy was old. White hair, wrinkley skin, rheumy eyes. The button down and tie he wore under his white coat gave him a professional air, or would have if he didn’t work for people who sold human beings and wasn’t currently about to give Dean a physical against his will. 

The doctor—what had his name been? Epcot? Ellington? Ellicott, that was it—sat on a stool, pulling a stethoscope from around his neck. Dead redirected his eyes to the ceiling while the man listened to his heart, then took his blood pressure, calling out stats to the nurse who dutifully wrote them down. He stayed calm all through a light being shone in his eyes, mouth, ears and nose; his glands being palpated (though he couldn’t seem to help flinching slightly); reflexes being tested (what the hell was the point of that when he was strapped down but whatever); blood samples being drawn (“Hope you don’t want me to pee in a cup ‘cause that’s gonna be a bit hard from this position.”)

Everything was fine and dandy—he went through scenarios of how he was going to kill everyone in this room, except the other omega—until Ellicott said, “Bring the ultrasound machine over, if you don’t mind, Bella.” 

He was just so polite, wasn’t he? Phrasing things like questions when everyone knew he was issuing orders. Such a big, strong alpha when there were armed guards backing him up. Would he be feeling so polite when he was begging Dean not to shove a needle in his eye? The idea brought a smile to his face, but it vanished along with the smartass comment he was about to make when he got a look at what Ellicott was doing. It was an ultrasound machine, but not the normal kind. It had a wand, a long one, the kind that—

“Oh, bite my ass. You better be about to stick that in Zachariah cause it’s not going in me.” Dean pulled at the restraints. They dug into his skin, but he kept tugging.

“Prepare the sedative,” Ellicott said, reaching one hand toward Dean, avoiding his biting teeth, and dug his thumb so hard into the gland on the left side of his neck it hurt. Dean groaned weakly, bordering on a whine, curses rattling around inside his head, but he couldn’t make his mouth spit them out. This douche was  _ so _ dying painfully. “Thank you,” Dr. Ellicot told the nurse, whose hands shook slightly, and accepted the needle. It slid into the crook of Dean’s elbow easy and whatever was in it hit him hard. 

Dean’s vision blacked out, but he realized it was because his eyes were closed. That was fine because it meant he couldn’t see what was happening. But he still felt it and gritted his teeth. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it? Getting hysterical over nothing,” the doctor said when he was done. The sound of latex gloves being peeled off made Dean want to hurl. He was floating on the edge of consciousness from the drugs when the straps were loosened. Felt himself being lifted back into the wheelchair.

“He’s good to go,” the doctor said to, who Dean assumed was, Zachariah. “All his vitals are within range, not pregnant, no indication he ever has been. The contraceptive implant he had when he got here seems to be doing well. It will still be effective by the time the party rolls around. Just need to wait for the results from the blood tests to come back, but everything seems fine.” 

Party? Ah, hell, that didn’t sound good. 

“Alastair will be happy to hear that,” Zachariah said. Alastair could suck a dick, he thought, finally cracking his eyes open when he felt the wheelchair start to move. Zachariah kept talking as he wheeled Dean down a hallway and to an elevator. “You’re moving into deluxe accommodations now, princess. You’ll need to be nice and rested for your debut and you can’t do that on a concrete floor.” 

Ya think? Give this guy a prize—he’s a genius. Dean rolled his eyes. It made him dizzy. 

The elevator let them off into a carpeted hallway, lined with doors. They were all identical and evenly spaced with a window in the top and a slot in the bottom with a panel that locked. ‘Deluxe accommodations’ looked like it meant ‘fancy prison.’ Right now he didn’t even care. He just wanted a bed so he could sleep off this crap and formulate a plan. He knew his dad had to be looking for him, but Dean wasn’t going to sit around a wait to be rescued like a princess in a damn tower. There was no guarantee anyone would find him before… well, before anything worse happened. 

Zachariah unlocked one of the doors halfway down the hall and pushed the wheelchair inside next to the bed. It was just a cot with a thin mattress, but it had sheets, a pillow, and a blanket and the rest of the room was clean. There was even a toilet, a sink, and a standing shower with a half wall around it in the corner. Looked like it came out of a jail cell, but seeing as they could have given him a bucket—things could have been worse. 

The beta crouched down in front of him, that stupid smile on his face again, and Dean pushed himself upright in the chair. That alone felt like a Herculean task, but he did it, damnit. He could play it cool until an opportunity presented itself and then he was getting the hell out of here, but he’d be damned if he would cower before this nutsack or anyone else. 

“Hope everything is up to your standards. If it’s not, well.,” Zachariah shrugged. Get bent, Dean thought, keeping his face expressionless. It was hard enough keeping his eyes open and not succumbing to the sleep his body desperately wanted thanks to the sedative. “Boss wants to keep you close, so you’ll be happy to know you aren’t getting auctioned off or sent to one of our, let’s say, less reputable whore houses. You touched a nerve. You’ll be working here with our more high end clientele.” 

“Oh, joy. I can barely contain my excitement,” he deadpanned.

“You should be grateful. You’ll be treated better here than you would anywhere else.” Except my home where, you know, you kidnapped me from, he didn’t point out. “Three meals a day, a room to yourself, and we make sure your Johns won’t permanently harm you.” 

Oh, yes, let Dean just throw you a parade. Give him a minute. He’d do it as soon as he could stand up. 

“Now, I’ll let you rest in a minute. You’ve had such a hard day,” Zachariah said in a patronizing tone, pushing to his feet so he towered over Dean. He pulled something from his pocket, letting it dangle from his hand. “You just need to be fitted with your collar first.” 

It was made of leather with one of those electronic things clipped to it with two prongs in the back like a shock collar for dogs. Dean glared up at the other man. Softly, his words filled with deadly promise, Dean told him, “I’m going to kill all of you.” 

“Sure you are,” Zachariah said, not sounding like he believed a word. Dean held still while the collar was placed around his neck, locking shut with a click. What else was he going to do? Even if he was up to fighting the beta off, he had no clothes, didn’t know how to get out of here, and he would bet his left nut that whoever was on the other end of the camera in the corner of the ceiling would stop him before he got far. 

He let himself be tucked into bed, resisted biting off Zachariah’s fingers when he patted his head with a “Good boy” before leaving. The lights in the room went off a moment later. They were controlled from the outside then. Okay. Camera probably had night vision, too. He filed it all away for later and let his eyes sink shut. 

  
  


* * *

“What the hell do you mean ‘don’t worry about it’?” 

“I’m taking care of it, Sammy. Just go back to school.”

Castiel planted his elbow on John’s dining room table that doubled as the alpha’s desk and propped his chin in his hand, sighing, listening to father and son argue. After getting Ellen to take care of the bar, which had been a hassle because Ellen was nosy and Castiel hadn’t wanted to give her details (“The hell you mean you’re taking time off? You haven’t taken time off since you opened this place.”), Cas had followed John up to Portland. Charlie was supposed to come by later. Or they were going to see her. He was still a bit hazy on the details. Apparently, Charlie was a little weird around new people. 

Castiel had been hoping to catch some sleep before they dug into everything Charlie had found in the last twenty-four hours. The drive had taken less than twenty minutes (he could still smell hows pissed off John was that Castiel had been so close and not come to see him, but Castiel figured that went both ways since John obviously knew where he lives), but he was beat from closing the bar the night before. Hadn’t gotten upstairs to his apartment until 5am and John had woken him up when he banged on his door. Except when John walked into his house, his younger son, Sam, was sitting on the couch in the living room and the fighting had started not long after. 

“Dad, you’re crazy if you think I’m just going to sit in class while those assholes have Dean. He was out there because of me.” 

“Sam, don’t.” Castiel knew John was running a hand across his face without actually having to see him. “They would have found some other time to grab him. They came after him because we pissed them off. If anyone’s to blame it’s me for not seeing this coming.” 

He rolled his eyes and grabbed his bag, heading down the hall to find the guest room. John would figure out where he was once he was finished with the Blame Fest with his son. He bypassed the room he assumed was Sam’s, from the Willamette Law School pennant on the wall, and the bathroom. Both of the doors at the end of the hall were open. He picked one at random and realized his mistake right away. It wasn’t the band posters or the mussed sheets on the bed or the pile of books on the side table that gave away the fact this was not a guest room that was the problem. It was the scent permeating the air. It was light, but unmistakable. 

Omega. 

It wasn’t like Castiel hadn’t been around omegas recently. That was impossible. They came into the bar, lived in his neighborhood, shopped at the grocery store he went to, used the same gas station, worked as delivery drivers for his suppliers. Most omegas were on birth control of some sort which muted their scents, but in places where they spent a lot of time, like where they slept? It was always deeper, more pervasive, embedded into every nook and cranny. Castiel hadn’t smelled an omega like this since his wife….

He opened eyes he hadn't realized were closed and backed out of the room, walking into the one across the hall and shutting the door behind him. He dropped his bag on the floor and collapsed face first onto the bed, which thankfully smelled of nothing more than laundry detergent and the faint smells of the house. 

* * *

Castiel woke up a few hours later, the phantom fog of a dream he couldn’t remember swirling around his brain. He groaned, rolling over onto his back and scrubbed his hands over his face, through his hair. He studiously ignored his dick, which was perking up after years of not being interested in much of anything. He didn’t look too closely at why he was hard enough to drive nails. Concentrated on his breathing, went through a mental inventory list for the bar until it abated. 

He got up, heard the TV on in Sam’s room when he hit the bathroom to piss, then went to find John. He was seated at the dining room table next to a young beta woman with red hair. There were three laptops open in front of them, their heads half hidden behind the screens. “Uh, hello.” 

Two heads jerked up at his greeting. John had a pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose that made Castiel’s face scrunch up before turning his focus to the beta who was blinking at him owlishly. She glanced sidelong at John, pointing a thumb in Castiel’s direction. “That him?” 

“Yup. Pull up a chair, Jimmy.” He sat down at the end of the table, trying to smooth down his hair, feeling weird all of a sudden meeting his friend’s eyes. John said, “Castiel James Novak, Charlie Bradbury. Charlie, Castiel.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Charlie squinted at Castiel then dropped her eyes back to her laptops, bouncing between the three like a tennis match. “I have had to interact with a lot of squicky people on a lot of squicky message boards, but I  _ might _ have found someone who  _ might _ know something.” 

“You know where they are?” 

The look Charlie gave him said ‘Bitch, please’ and Castiel raised his hands. “I could doxx everyone in the CIA if I wanted to. Well… some of them. If I tried, but that’s not the point. I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t have a location. It’s what I was telling Johnny boy here before you decided to grace us with your presence.” 

‘Johnny boy?’ he mouthed. ‘Shut up,’ John mouthed back. He directed his question at Charlie. “You said he’s local?” 

“Ish. Dude’s in Salem.” She turned one of the laptops so John and Castiel could see the picture and address for one ‘Gordon Walker’. 

He and John locked eyes. The other alpha’s lips thinned, eyes narrowed. “Let’s go see what this son of a bitch knows.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean woke up feeling a little shaky with a pounding headache, but at least he could move now. Cursory examination of the collar around his neck confirmed the fact that it was locked in place. No getting that off anytime soon. He let out a sigh, staring at the ceiling. Damn, but he missed his clothes. He wasn’t shy about his body, Dean wasn’t exactly a virgin and may or may not have participated in a bit of exhabitionism in his day, but some faceless person watching him on a camera while he moved around, dick and ass flapping in the wind, wasn’t something he was anticipating. And they better not have fucked up his leather jacket. He wanted that back. That and the necklace Sam had given him for Christmas that one year when they were kids and dad was tracking down a bounty for extra cash. 

He sighed again, pushed the blankets back, and got up to investigate the room. He looked up at the camera in the low light from the one window in the room, which was high up on the wall and barred. Enjoy the show, boys, he thought, flipping the camera off. The cot had a solid frame he wouldn’t be able to break apart without tools, the thin mattress was foam so no springs he could stab someone with, the toilet and sink didn’t have any exposed piping. No light switches or electrical sockets he could pull apart. The shower didn’t have glass walls around it, just the half wall and the tiles were firmly attached. The shower head didn’t come loose when he pulled on it. There wasn’t even a mirror he could crack. How was he supposed to keep himself pretty in these conditions? 

Dean stood in the middle of the room, toes sinking into the plush throw rug in the middle of the room, fingers tapping against his thigh while he thought. His prospects for escape were looking bleak so far, but he’d just need to wait until he got out of this room and got a look at more of the house. That would happen sooner or later if he was supposed to be at this ‘party’. No time frame on when they expected him to bend over and take it from some stranger so they could make a quick buck, so he could be cooling his heels for a while. Fuckin’ fantastic. 

His eyes went to the window. It was too high up for him to see out from the ground. He turned his head slowly to the bed. It wasn’t bolted down. If he moved it underneath the window, it should give him enough extra height to look outside. He wrapped his hands around the headboard and started dragging it. “Frickin’ thing weighs a ton,” he grunted. 

Once he had the bed shoved under the window, Dean climbed on it and took a gander outside. Wrapping his hands around the bars, he bit off a curse. Past the expansive lawn was a big ass wall, and beyond the big ass wall was dense forest. He was literally in the middle of nowhere. If he ran, he needed to be prepared for a hike and hiding in the woods. That meant supplies, something to mask his scent, weapons. Oh, clothes and shoes wouldn’t hurt. 

“Fuck.” His forehead hit the bars with a dull thunk. Not only would he need to get out of the building and past any security (both electronic and human), he’d need to cross the lawn unseen and then scale a wall. His chances of escaping, let alone unharmed, and making it back to civilization were dwindling. 

The lights in the room switched on and a moment later the door opened. Dean took a deep breath and turned to face Zachariah just as he closed the door behind him. The beta’s eyes swept the room before landing on him, brow cocked. Dean smiled, exuding a carefree attitude, and sat on the side of the bed. “I redecorated. Hope you don’t mind.” Taking his own visual inventory of the room, Dean clicked his tongue. Shaking his head, he told Zachariah, “I prefer a southern exposure, but I suppose this will just have to do.” 

Zachariah didn’t say anything at first. He withdrew the hand in his pocket, pulling out a small remote, which he held up for Dean to see. He smiled and hit one of the buttons. Dean knew it was coming, but it still hurt like a son of a bitch. Electricity getting pumped through your body would do that. If he hadn’t been against shock collars before he sure was now. This sucked. It didn’t last long, but he was hunched over when it stopped. Dean smiled. “That all you got?” 

Zachariah hit the button again and this time Dean slid to the floor. This really was a nice rug. Soft. Cradled you just right. Dean lifted his head, lips twitching with the urge to snarl. “Thought you weren’t supposed to damage me. Won’t your boss be pissed?” 

Zachariah gazed down at him, impassive. “My boss is the one who authorized this. Alastair heard about all your lip and wasn’t pleased.” 

So, Alastair was the Big Bad. “Aw, and I thought you liked my lips.” He groaned when the collar went off again. 

“I told you, you’d need to be corrected. Start behaving and it stops.” 

“Nice victim blaming.”  _ Click _ . More groaning. He pulled at the collar even though he knew it wasn’t budging. “Your mother should have swallowed you.” 

Dean lost track of time. Zachariah didn’t even wait for Dean to speak before he zapped him again; opening his mouth was enough. He hated this guy. He really, really hated him. Zachariah knelt down in front of Dean the way he had in that cold, concrete room. Head cocked, he contemplated Dean’s prone form. “So stubborn.” 

“Get… bent,” he panted. 

“Lucky for you I have a time limit.” Zachariah patted his head (he was so over this dude treating him like a dog) and stood, tucking the remote back into his pocket. “See you again tomorrow. Hopefully for you, you’re less stubborn.” 

  
  


* * *

The house Castiel and John pulled up in front of looked like classic suburbia. Nice lawn, flower beds, American flag hanging on a pole beside the door. The only thing kind of out of place was the mint condition red El Camino in the driveway. Castiel would expect a minivan outside the two-story, but he already knew Walker lived alone and had no kids. When John reached to open his door, Castiel put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Maybe I should talk to him alone.” 

“The hell’re you talking about? This is my  _ son _ —”

“Exactly.” He ignored John’s scowl and the scent of pissed off alpha permeating the cab of the truck. “You’re too close to this and we need this prick to talk.” 

John’s jaw clenched, but he looked away and nodded. His hands were clenched around the wheel. “You better get something.” 

Castiel had every intention of doing that. He put a hand on the other alpha’s shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze, and got out of the car. His knock on Walker’s door was answered after a few moments. A discrete wiff identified the dark skinned man who answered the door as beta. He raised a brow. “Can I help you?” 

“Was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.” 

Walker frowned. “You a cop?” 

“Not exactly.” Castiel glanced down the street to make sure no one was watching.

“Think I’ll pass,” the other man said. 

Castiel looked back just in time to see Gordon start to shut the door. He didn’t give him a chance to finish. He shouldered his way inside. “Afraid I’m going to have to insist.” 

“Get the hell out of my house.”

“I can’t do that. You have information I need and I’m not leaving without it.” Castiel stopped in the middle of the living room and faced Walker who was still standing next to his open door, scowling at him. 

“Whatever, man,” Walker sneered. He left his door open and walked past Castiel to grab his cell off the coffee table. “I’m calling the cops.” 

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Whether it was how unconcerned Castiel was about the prospect of the police showing up or something in his voice or posture, Walker's thumb paused and he raised his head. Frowning, he scoffed, “And why is that?” 

“Because I happen to know that you have information on your computer you wouldn’t want the authorities to be privy to,” he informed Walker. 

“You don’t know shit.” 

“Maybe.” Castiel shrugged. “You really want to take that chance?” 

“I don’t care what you think you know,” Walker said, sliding his phone into his pocket. “But I’m not telling you anything.” 

Castiel dropping into an armchair, sprawling, making himself at home. “It’s going to be a long night then. Maybe you want to order a pizza or something?” 

“Listen, you son of a bitch,” he growled, walking back toward the door to grab the baseball bat resting against the wall beside it. Discount security system. He puffed up the way only an insecure beta could and pointed the bat at the open door. “You either leave on your own or I’ll make you.” 

“You can try.” 

* * *

Walker did try. Came at Castiel brandishing the bat. Castiel kicked him into the coffee table. He stood while the beta picked himself off the floor with a groan. The other man was weaving on his feet a bit after he got vertical, but he shook it off and went after Castiel again. Wound up shoved face first into a wall with an arm twisted behind his back for that unwise decision. He thrashed and spit curses, but Castiel easily controlled him.

“Answer my questions and I’ll leave you alone.” 

“I don’t know anything.” 

“I didn’t even ask you anything yet.” Castiel pressed Walker harder against the wall. “You frequent a certain type of chat room, don’t you?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said between gritted teeth. 

“You and your Taking Back Beta Rights buddies like to talk about how much your lives suck and you can’t get laid because you don’t have knots or slick.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Walker growled. He made another attempt to throw Castiel off. Castiel wrenched his arm higher and Walker stilled, panting through the pain. 

“That’s not even all of it. Those sites you scroll through? The omega auctions?” 

“I just look sometimes. That’s not a crime. Neither is shit talking on the internet. If it was everyone would be in jail.” 

“I’m not here to arrest you. I could give two shits about how you spend your free time.” That wasn’t completely true. He thought people like Walker were scum and didn’t deserve to walk around free, but it wasn’t his job anymore to take people like Gordon Walker off the streets. He could always whisper in the right people’s ear later, but for now he had other priorities. “Tell me about the auctions. The in person ones.” 

“I don’t know anything about those.” 

Castiel slammed his head against the wall, making the picture frames rattle. “Try again.” 

“A buddy of mine mentioned them,” Walker said in a rush. “It was more like an urban legend. No one I know personally has even been.” 

“You’re wasting my time, Walker.” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” he yelled before Castiel could finish pulling his head back to reintroduce it to the drywall. “A friend of a friend. Bragged about going. Except it wasn’t an auction; it was a party at some house. Location changes all the time and it costs an arm and a leg to get in so everyone thought he was full of shit.” 

“Name,” Castiel gritted. 

“Creedy.” 

“That a first name or last name?” 

“I don’t know, man. I just know him as Creedy. I don’t know anything else. You got what you wanted, now get the hell out.” Castiel stepped back and Walker slid to the floor when he released his hold. Walker turned so his back was pressed against the wall and rubbed his shoulder, glaring up at Castiel. “And, fuck you. I’m not like those losers I talk to. I have sex all the time.” 

Castiel rolled his eyes and headed for the door. Over his shoulder he said, “Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night.” 

When he got back to the truck he slammed the door behind him. John was practically vibrating in his seat. Castiel didn’t make him wait. “Need to find a guy named Creedy. Get Charlie on it. And John?” He waited until his friend made eye contact. “The situation might be worse than we thought. You should be prepared for that.” 


	4. Chapter 4

Tall, Bald and Asshole visited Dean everyday for his “sessions”. Zachariah would tut like he hated doing it and didn’t take satisfaction in trying to make Dean submit and be a good boy. He was nobody’s good anything. 

Wait. That wasn’t what he meant. He was good at a lot of things. It was hard to think straight. They hadn’t been feeding him much either. Another punishment for his smart mouth. He felt run down all the time. The empty stomach and the burn marks on his neck had been worth seeing Zachariah’s face when he asked if the beta liked doing this so much ‘cause he couldn’t get it up. Heh, it still made him laugh. But it was all catching up to him. 

It had been two weeks so far and Dean only knew that because he’d started scratching lines into the wall by his bed at night, hiding it with his pillow. They hadn’t made him move his bed back, so Dean spent his free time looking out the window and trying to track the guard's movements. This vantage point sucked, but he’d gotten some of their shift changes and routine’s memorized. 

Dean was starting to get used to being naked all the time, too, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. One time he tried to wrap the blanket around himself like a toga and Zachariah had come in to shock him for it, the bastard. “It’s cold in here,” he grumbled. They turned the heat up. 

The only break in his schedule of sleep, starving until he was allowed to choke down dry toast (at least he had water because of the sink), shower then air dry, and get tortured happened yesterday. A no-nonsense beta came in with a guard and all the hair on Dean’s body was either waxed, plucked, or trimmed. He gritted his teeth through all of it since he didn’t want to end up shot through like Swiss cheese by the trigger happy looking alpha with the gun. Dean did glare at him every time he caught the guy looking at his ass.  _ Don’t get any ideas, buddy. I doubt they let the help sample the wares.  _

He didn’t take it as a good sign that they were grooming him. He was running out of time. Either he needed to figure out how to escape ASAP or resign himself to the fact that he was going to be forced to let some stranger fuck him. Zachariah didn’t show up that day, a fact for which Dean was a little disappointed because he could have done with the distraction, and how messed up was that? He curled up on the bed, pulling the covers over his head, and squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t done this since he was a kid, giving in to his omega instincts to hide when he felt scared, but it was the only way he could get some privacy, so screw it.  _ I’m trying here, dad _ , he thought, ignoring the tears that leaked out of the corners of his eyes.  _ But it would be really great if you could show up. Like right now.  _

Whether or not the surveillance equipment in the room had sound capabilities was an unknown factor. He bit his lip just in case. He might have been feeling hopeless enough to wish his dad would save him, but he wasn’t so far gone that he’d let them hear him cry. It would be a cold day in hell. 

His respite only lasted the day. Zachariah showed up the same time he always did the next. Dean kept track of the time by where the sun was across the floor. The beta smiled. Asked if Dean was ready to behave. Dean told him to go fuck himself. Then he curled up on the floor for a while, twitching, voltage from the collar coursing through his body, wishing he was dead. 

That particular day, he almost broke and begged Zachariah to stop. Dean bit his lip so hard he drew blood. He kept staring at the spots of it drying into the cushy throw rug for a while before he was finally able to coordinate his limbs enough to pull himself off the ground. 

* * *

It turned out Creedy was, in fact, a lying son of a bitch. He hadn’t ever been to any party or omega auctions like he claimed. The beta, an older man with a goatee, had crumpled as soon as Castiel and John put pressure on him. Mostly John, if he were honest. Castiel hadn’t been able to make John stay behind that time, had almost ended up with Sam along for the ride, too (Save him from Winchesters), and Creedy ended up bloodier than he would have if Castiel had been there alone. He couldn’t dredge up much remorse for that. 

At least Sam decided his efforts were better served helping Charlie, who had relocated to her own house, taking Sam with her. Two days after the confrontation with Creedy, she announced, “Look, my girlfriend is freaking out that I’ve been gone for so long. I can do all this as well, if not better, there as I can here. Sleeping on the couch is not conducive to the kind of rest I need for my brain to work.” 

“I told you you could take Dean’s room.” Charlie was shaking her head at John before he finished speaking. 

“Felt too weird. I appreciate it, though. And I’ll keep you updated.” She stopped packing up her equipment to look at him. “You know I won’t stop until we find him.” 

John pulled her into a quick hug, one large hand cupping the back of her head, tucking it under his chin, scent marking her before releasing her with a kiss to her hair. “I know.” 

Castiel averted his gaze when he noticed the tears in both their eyes. John hugged Sam goodbye and walked them to the door. From the kitchen where he’d wandered off to give them a modicum of privacy, he heard John say, “Tell Gilda I said hey.” 

He’d just flicked the switch of the coffeemaker on when John walked in. He leaned against the counter on the other side of the kitchen from where Castiel stood, hands gripping the edge of it behind him so hard his knuckles turned white. Chin tucked close to his chest, John said, “I’m failing.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Castiel mirrored his stance, arms crossed. 

“He’s been gone for weeks and I feel like we’re no closer to finding him than we were when we started.” He laughed humorlessly. “Only took us a couple of days to find the Pike kid.” 

“I’ve seen the files on that case, John. It was a lucky break. The people who took Matt made a mistake and the ones who took Dean will do the same.” He knew John was beating himself up for what happened to his kid, but John had always taken the weight of the world on his shoulders. Seemed to be a Winchester trait because Sam was the same. Castiel would put money on Dean being no different. Damn stubborn asses. He exhaled, watching the play of emotions across his friend’s face, and his next words were spoken softly. “You’re only failing if you give up. We’ll find him.” 

John stared at him, the silence stretching out around them. Eventually he nodded. “Yeah.” One of his hands brushed across his mouth and he nodded again. “Yeah. We will.” 

The coffeemaker beeped, the sound loud in the hush that had fallen over the house with Sam and Charlie gone, occupied only by two alphas used to keeping their thoughts to themselves. Sam and Charlie were the talkers. The first few days here had been strange, besides the fact he had to avoid Dean’s room like the plague—he still woke up hard and had dreams of a faceless omega who smelled like everything he ever wanted, except he couldn’t be because Dean was his best friend’s kid. But the noise that Sam and Charlie produced was jarring after so long of waking up to an empty apartment. 

Castiel took two mugs down while John settled into one of the kitchen chairs, elbows braced against his knees. His hands hung down, shoulders slumped, but his eyes held a determination they hadn’t possessed before. It was a start. 

He placed a mug in front of John, who lifted his chin in acknowledgement, and cradled it between his knees. Castiel sat across from him, the silence like a living thing, crouched in wait to attack. Or maybe that was just Castiel’s unwillingness to have the conversation they needed to have because once they found Dean—and they would, Castiel wasn’t allowing room for doubt—it would most likely mean extracting the omega from a sex den. This wouldn’t be a run of the mill auction; no easy in and out after a money exchange. Castiel had never gone undercover in a place like it, but he’d heard stories. John couldn’t stick his head in the sand about what would happen once Castiel was inside. Castiel asked him to help and what that help entailed was more than either of them first thought. 

Castiel would have to do things to John’s son for the sake of cover that John might not be comfortable with, that Castiel himself might not be. It wouldn’t be the first time an assignment involved him engaging in things of a sexual nature, but this wouldn’t be a heavy make out session to allay suspicion and this wasn’t something he could completely detach himself from after. He’d known John since they were kids and he was starting to realize how much he'd missed the other man’s friendship. While Castiel might be able to salvage something after the way he cut and ran from everyone in his past, the only way he might be able to come back from this is if John wasn’t blindsided. Castiel would need to touch Dean, hurt him. 

“John,” he sighed. The other man grunted, eyes trained on the contents of his mug. “You know what’s going to happen when we find him, don’t you? How the situation has changed?” 

John’s shoulders tightened and he slowly raised his head. “Do we really need to do this?” 

“Yes.” His tone stressed the finality of that word and his eyes were hard. This was a shit situation, but their’s wasn’t a friendship based on secrets. They were both too blunt, too honest, and the consequence was that sometimes they hated each other. 

“Goddamnit, Castiel.” John’s mug hit the table with a clatter, almost upending, before he pushed up from his chair and started pacing. “The hell you want me to say? That I’m aware these motherfuckers plan on turning my kid into a high priced prostitute?” 

“Yes,” he said again, but a note of desperation slid in this time. “Because I want you to be able to look at me when I come back.” John stopped, turned to face him, there were tears in the corners of the other man’s eyes. “I know I’ve been a miserable hermit since April… but you’re my best friend. And I need to know that you’ll forgive me for this.” 

John turned away, shook his head, wiped his hand across his mouth. He didn’t look at Castiel when he said, “You bring Dean back, I’ll forgive anything.” 

Then he walked out of the kitchen and the front door closed behind him with a soft click. It would have been better if he slammed it. Castiel hoped to God that was true. 


	5. Chapter 5

Dean started doing push-ups and sit-ups between his daily visits with Zach. No one got mad about it. Dean guessed they didn’t care since it stopped him from looking as starved as he felt, kept his muscle definition up as much as he could given the circumstances. Gotta keep the merchandise in tip- top shape, he thought, counting off reps in his head. 

His rations stayed the same and Zach kept shocking him, though they had brought the omega nurse up to look at the marks the electrodes or whatever they were on the underside of the collar had left on his skin. The collar never came off, and two guards stood by the door, but she cleaned his skin, put some kind of ointment on it, and bandaged it. 

_ Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty _ … Zach was late. Dean frowned, sweat beading his skin, feeling more exhausted than he was used to after this many push-ups which pissed him off. Were they giving him a break? Dean had been tempted to give up the resistance, all in all it was pointless, but he hadn’t. The words had been on the tip of his tongue more than once, but they never broke free. 

_ Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six _ … He scowled. There were now twenty- three marks on the wall by his bed, and he was no closer to figuring a way out of this damn place than he had been when he got here. What the hell were these assholes waiting for? The place had been quiet as death in between the meal deliveries (most of which Dean wasn’t on the receiving end of), Zachariah’s visits, and patrols by the guards, besides that one time with the nurse. Sometimes he pressed his ear to the door to listen—had tried testing the hatch at the bottom of the door once but that got him shocked. He knew the guard’s patrol schedule now for the hallway of the Omega Wing (which was what he called it), but that didn’t mean anything if he couldn’t  _ get the door open _ . 

Dean rolled over onto his back when his arms started shaking and stared up at the ceiling. As much as he dreaded whatever the party was, part of him wanted to get it over and done with. Except it wouldn’t be over after that, would it? There would be another party, and another, and another, until Dean was too broken or old to be useful. 

No. Nope, stop thinking like that dumbass, he told himself. His dad and Charlie would find him. Hell, maybe even Bobby or Rufus. Dean didn’t know what state he was in, so having other P.I.s out of state looking into his disappearance could help. The trees looked different from the ones in Oregon, but he wasn’t up on treeology, or whatever, enough to determine his location from the bit of forest he could see out the window. Note to self: study up on trees when you get out of here. He didn’t plan on leaving his house for a very long time after this, so it would give him something to do. 

Because he was getting out of this shithole. Even if it was in a body bag. 

The lock on the door clicked open and Dean sat up just as it swung inward. Zachariah strode in, that annoying smile on his face, followed by two guards. One was pushing a cart, the other had his gun raised, but not pointed at anything, not yet. Just the threat of it. Dean looked at one then the other. The beta—--tall, dark skin with close cropped hair—--wasn’t looking at him. The other one—the lady with olive skin, dark hair braided down her back, and hazel eyes—--was and she wasn’t giving Dean the warm and fuzzies. He hadn’t seen her before. His eyes slid to Zachariah who was looking way too cheerful. 

“It’s showtime, princess.” He reached for the cart and picked up a set of wrist and ankle cuffs. “And since you still cannot be trusted to behave, you’ll need a few accessories.” 

Zachariah wandered closer, cuffs in hand. Dean was tempted to jump him—head butt, gouge his eyes out, something. Hell, he’d settle for biting like a bitchy omega, but a quick glance at the male guard, who was less relaxed in his stance now, looking more than ready to introduce Dean’s person with some lead, had him reconsidering. When he looked back at Zachariah, the beta’s smile morphed into a smirk. “By jove, maybe you can teach an old bitch new tricks!” 

“Blow it out your ass.” 

“Ah. Spoke too soon.” He came to a halt a few inches from Dean’s feet. “Don’t make this harder on yourself than it has to be and stand up. We have a client who has expressed quite an interest in you,” Zachariah informed him as Dean pushed slowly to his feet with aching limbs and stared resolutely at the wall with narrowed eyes. The beta leaned close, spoke right in his ear, taunting. “And let me tell you, from what I’ve heard, he has quite a reputation. I think you two will get along great if he manages to out bid everyone else.”

Dean didn’t fight when the cuffs, heavy and cold against his skin, were secured with little padlocks. He didn’t even complain when Zachariah crouched down to place the other set of cuffs around his ankles and ran an unnecessary hand across his hip.

“Almost done.” Zachariah walked back to the cart to retrieve something else that clinked against the cart’s surface. “You just need a few more finishing touches.” 

* * *

Castiel flexed his hands around the steering wheel. The line of cars up the curved drive wasn’t long, but he felt like he had been idling forever. The drive here from the hotel had seemed to stretch on, up twisting, back roads. He flew into Massachusetts, rented a car, and checked into his hotel under the false identity Charlie concocted for him. It came complete with backstory and an online history that made him want to punch himself in the face for his fake actions. Eddie Moscone made people like Gordon Walker look like angels. And that was who he had to pretend to be for the next few days. 

The two cars in front of him finally made it through the valet line and Castiel pulled up under the portico, waiting for the woman with long brown hair pulled into a ponytail, clad in white shirt, black pants and green vest, to open the door for him before he climbed out, buttoning the jacket of his suit. He pressed a twenty into the valet’s hand—--surreptitiously inhaling the scent of beta—--along with his keys. 

“I’m not supposed to accept tips,” she said, eyes flicking toward the door, but he ignored her and tucked the cash into the pocket on her vest before pulling his briefcase from the backseat. He was popping the trunk open when a man in a black suit came down the front stairs toward him. He was another beta, blond, older than Castiel by a few years at least if not more. His eyes were a strange color, almost yellow. Castiel narrowed his eyes behind the lenses of his sunglasses.

“Never mind about that, Meg,” the newcomer said.

“Of course, sir.” She climbed into the car and waited for the luggage to be unpacked by a third beta in an outfit like Meg’s who had followed Black Suit out of the house. 

“Someone will take care of your bags, Mr. Moscone. If you follow me, I’ll direct you to your room after you pass through security.” He indicated the front door. Castiel shrugged, slipping his free hand into his pocket and preceded the other man up the stairs. There were guards inside the doors with a metal detector, which didn’t surprise him. They had planned on his things being searched. 

“There will be a package waiting for you at the hotel,” Charlie had called to tell him before he got on the plane. “Do  _ not _ leave without it. Okay? Don’t. It’s stuff you’ll need.” 

Then she hung up on him without any further explanation. True to her word there had been a package waiting in his hotel room. The briefcase had been in it, with a hidden compartment that was lined to block a metal detector or an x-ray holding an emergency transponder and a sat phone. He didn’t really want to know how she had gotten all this stuff, he was just happy to have it. He just hoped no one found the hidden latch that opened the compartment in the briefcase. He could play it off as being a paranoid son of a bitch, but he’d rather not have to. 

Castiel submitted to a pat down after he walked through the metal detector, affecting boredom, until the guard, an apha about his height with brown hair and a beard, bunched up his jacket. “Don’t wrinkle the suit,” he snapped. “It costs more than you do.” 

“We done anyway,” he said in a thick creole accent, smirking as he stepped back and held up his hands. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners. 

Castiel straightened his jacket with a jerk. Accepted his briefcase, concealing his relief that all of Charlie’s gifts stayed hidden. They didn’t give him back his phone and even though he expected it, the man he was pretending to be wouldn’t just let that slide. He held out an imperious hand to the guard, who looked at the older man in the suit. 

“I apologize, Mr. Moscone,” he said, not sounding the least bit sorry, “Wireless devices are not allowed on the premises. It will be returned to you at the end of your stay. This way. I’m sure you’d like to settle in before the festivities begin.” 

Cas pursed his lips, but nodded, as if he had a choice. The reason this whole operation worked was mutually assured destruction—no one ratted them out because participating in these parties meant the authorities could go after them as well. People like that, they liked to live certain parts of their life in the shadows. That being the case, they wouldn’t let a “client” back out before the fun started and they had leverage—blackmail material. 

Castiel calmly followed behind the suited man. On the trip up two flights of stairs and down a hallway, he pegged all the cameras, motion detectors, where the guards were posted, and if they rotated posts at all while he passed. It was going to be a bitch getting out of here undetected. He hoped Dean was as good as John said because they’d need to work together. 

“If you need anything, I’m at your disposal, Mr. Moscone,” the beta said upon opening one of the identical doors down the long hallway. He smiled in a way Castiel thought was supposed to be polite, but fell just short. “Just ask for Azazel.” 

Castiel grunted and walked into the room, casting it a contemptuous glance, and dropped his briefcase on the bed. When he turned around, Azazel was just closing the door. “The party is tonight, yes?” 

“Impatient, are we?” Cas didn’t answer. The beta sighed like he was disappointed at the lack of reaction. “Someone will be by to collect you later once the product is finished being set up. Order room service, relax. This is supposed to be enjoyable, Mr. Moscone.” 

Then he was gone and Castiel went about searching the room, trying to make it unobtrusive as possible. He took his jacket off and hung it in the closet, walked around the en-suite bathroom, browsed the books in the bookcase, before glancing out the window. The expanse of lawn surrounded by the concrete fence in the distance made him sigh. So did the five cameras he found in the room, including one in the bathroom above the sink. They either didn’t trust their clients, which was valid, or they got off on watching. He didn’t think there was audio in the room at least, though the phone was probably tapped and there might be a microphone somewhere else not attached to the cameras. 

When someone came to deliver his suitcase, a lanky omega with listless eyes, Castiel had him set it down on the luggage stand. The young man left without once looking at him. The collar around his neck made Castiel’s eyes narrow. Behavior modification? Or something else? If Dean had one Castiel would need to find a way to remove it. There could be a tracking chip. Picking a book at random off the shelf, he settled against the headboard and waited. 

He was impatient, but not for the reasons Azazel had been thinking. 

* * *

They’d drugged him. Dean had been picking at the plate of food Cueball and the guards left after giving him his cuffs and chains, realizing too late that it was laced with something. He thought briefly about shoving his fingers down his throat to make himself vomit, but the floor rose up to meet him as he passed out and tipped off the bed. When he woke up, he was slumped over on his knees, chained to the floor of the cage he was locked in.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he slurred, head still feeling blurry, and pulled at the chains attached to the cuffs around his wrists and ankles. The chains rattled and succeeded only in chafing his wrists on the metal (you’d think they could at least spring for the nice padded ones so the omegas didn’t bleed all over the place) and leaned against the bars. “Ow.” 

“Might as well settle down,” an accented voice said from somewhere to his right. Dean cracked his lids (when had he closed his eyes?) and rolled his head. The voice belonged to a tall alpha with brown hair and a shadowed jaw. His broad shoulders were covered in a black t-shirt, a rifle strapped across his chest, a handgun in a thigh holster around his leg. The way he stood screamed military. He kept his voice low, lips hardly moving, staring straight ahead. “Nothing you could do now anyway, cher.” 

“Oh, go to hell,” he said tiredly. Dude could take his pet names and shove them up his ass. Moving took monumental effort, but he managed to get back up to his knees. He was  _ seriously  _ getting tired of waking up in new places. 

The guard chuckled, glancing quickly at Dean from the corner of his eye. “I heard you was a handful.” 

“Yup. That’s me.” Dean looked around the rest of the room, seeing other naked omegas in identical cages to the one he was in. They didn’t look as drugged as he was, but then again he couldn’t see straight. They were also all male. Huh, talk about a meat market. He snorted at his own joke, earning glares from the other guards and the one who’d been speaking to him tapped the butt of his rifle in the bars. “No laughing. Got it.” 

So, this was it. He was too drugged to be freaking out about the fact that he was about to be purchased by a stranger like he was a new purse. He let his eyes drift shut again, because he didn’t want to see any of it, and sat, scooting back to lean against the bars, knees pulled up to his chest. If they didn’t like his posture they could kiss his hairy ass. Well, formerly hairy ass. 

He was almost asleep again, the drugs still working their way out of his system, when he heard the doors open, the shuffle of feet over carpet. Then Zachariah said, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the main event,” like a demented ring master at a circus. 

Dean’s lips twitched, wanting to snarl, but he bit his lip and resolutely kept his eyes shut. Just a harmless omega here, nothing to see, I definitely won’t rip your throat out with my teeth the second you give me an opening. It was in his best interests to appear subdued for now. 

“Take a look around,” Zach continued. “If you have any questions, let me know, and bids will be placed in the study over drinks after.” 

They were trying way too hard to make this all civilized. The room stank of posturing alpha, making his nose twitch. He let the conversation in the room fade to the background, ignoring the alphas who stopped next to his cage. He succeeded until he heard the almost silent tread of shoes on the carpet and felt eyes on him. He forced himself to stay still even though he wanted to squirm. Bastard smelled good, too. Like  _ really _ good, his scent cutting through the cloying aroma of everyone else in the room. 

Dean was tempted to open his eyes and peek until he heard Zach approach. “This is him. Pretty, isn’t he?” 

“Wouldn’t know. Can’t really see much of him,” the alpha said, voice deep and raspy. Fuck him for having a sexy voice, too. If there was any justice in the world, the evil dickwad looked like a troll.

It sounded like Zach patted the alpha on the back, giving a nervous chuckle when the move was met with a low warning growl. The reaction was a little archaic, but Dean didn’t blame the evil, omega- buying knothead for not wanting the beta to touch him. “Don’t worry. We have pictures.” 

“Hmm.” The alpha moved off, taking his stupid, appealing scent with him, and Zach scurried after. Dude must be loaded to have Zachariah bowing and scraping like that. It almost made him laugh. 

Then he thought about the fact that moneybags would probably be the one purchasing him. 

Fuck my life, he thought with a mental groan, slumping further into his raised knees. 

  
  


* * *

Castiel typed in the authorization to transfer funds from the account Charlie set up for him and with a tap of the enter key he—or Eddie Moscone—officially owned an omega, as far as anyone here was concerned. He felt sick inside, but another part of himself he was trying to ignore was thinking about how he wouldn’t have to pretend to be attracted to Dean. Even curled up in the corner of that cage he wanted to rip apart with his bare hands, obviously trying to appear meek and scared to anyone who wasn’t fooled by the set of his shoulders, the omega looked even better than he smelled. 

He accepted the remote to Dean’s collar and the key to his cuffs—“If you want to risk it. He’s a bit hard to handle,” the obsequious beta said with a chuckle—and took a drink from the sideboard. Walking the perimeter, Castiel took the measure of everyone in the room, including the alpha who was only introduced as Alastair. The man sat in a chair by the fireplace, holding court. His chuckle sent shivers down Castiel’s spine. 

Two guards were stationed outside the closed doors. The other guests might think this was a gesture of good faith, not having them in the room, but Castiel knew it for what it was—the double doors were the only point of (visible) entry into or out of the room besides the windows of the third floor study. They were making sure no one could leave. 

Castiel wasn’t trying to go anywhere, though, so he calmly sipped his admittedly good Scotch. He would bide his time, wait for the perfect moment, set up their escape route before enacting the next part of the plan. He only wondered if he would be the same man once this was all over. 


	6. Chapter 6

The universe was a completely unfair place, Dean decided, when he walked (was pushed) through the door of his “owner’s” room a few hours later. He was feeling less groggy at least and managed to keep his feet. The guard, the one from earlier with the accent, nodded at the man, glanced once at Dean from the corner of his eye, and left. Dean ignored him except for a slight roll of his eyes. He was focused on the alpha by the bank of windows, who was trying very hard to appear relaxed, but the lines of his body telegraphed tension to anyone who had been fighting and reading his opponents as long as Dean had. He wasn’t fooled by the indolent pose: perching on the edge of the windowsill, hands in the pockets of his suit. The cut of the fabric was tailored and obviously expensive, but didn’t do a damn thing to hide the strength in the alpha’s body. The man was twice Dean’s age if he was a day, but he wasn’t a slouch. 

And he was… attractive wasn’t quite enough to describe him. Karma was a crock of shit. No lowlife should have lips that plush or hair that looked that soft. Paired with his Sex Voice and the way he smelled, he might be the hottest person Dean had seen in a while. Maybe his life. 

Fucking shit. 

“I’m going to need you to listen to me very carefully,” the alpha said, pulling Dean back to reality as effectively as a bucket of icy water. 

Right. The guy was a douche. Don’t fantasize about the guy who just  _ bought you _ . That shouldn’t be so difficult to remember. He tossed the guy a toothy grin, rattling the chain between the shackles he wore to remind himself where he was and why (screw his hormones for being sluts). “How ‘bout you get bent?” 

Lips pursed, the alpha pushed off from the window, shedding his coat as he approached Dean. He tossed it aside like it didn’t cost more than most people’s rent, and started rolling up his sleeves. 

Dean was distracted by his forearms for a split second, the way the muscles there flexed; his fingers, more callused than Dean would have thought for some pampered, rich asshole. When he looked up, the alpha was closer than Dean expected and Dean realized that he was taller, just barely, than the alpha. Under other circumstances that might have made him feel like he had an edge. Not so much right now. He’d be damned if he was going down without a fight, though. 

The alpha pinned him with a blue eyed gaze, not looking away as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a remote. It was familiar, the same one Zachariah used to torment him with the collar around his neck. Dean’s lips pulled back from his teeth and he braced himself for the pain, but it never came. Instead of pressing the button, the alpha slowly reached out and placed it on the bed. “I don’t think we’ll need this.” 

“Whatever you say, old man.” Dean had dipped his toe into the cougar and silver fox pool before and this alpha didn’t have a gray hair in sight. The guy wasn’t that old. His dad’s age, maybe. Which was... okay, not thinking about that. But he was trying to wound any way he could and if he was lucky, the alpha had a fragile ego. 

The only reaction he got was an eye roll. “I’m going to take you down now. Don’t make me hurt you.” 

“Yeah, whatever you say, grandp-ah!” He had absolutely no idea how it happened, but suddenly his face was pressed into the carpet, his hands trapped beneath him, and there was a knee digging into his lower back. 

“What the fuck.” The words came out muffled. He struggled, but the way he’d landed meant he had no purchase to buck the alpha off. 

The other man leaned closer, speaking directly into Dean’s ear. “Poughkeepsie.” 

Dean froze. “What did you say?” 

“Sam told me to say that. That it would make you listen.” 

“If you hurt my brother, I swear I will find a way to fucking end you,” he growled and the alpha sighed, his mint scented breath caressing Dean’s cheek. 

“Your father sent me to get you out of here.” Dean desperately wanted it to be true. And he did know the code. Him and his brother had never told anyone about that, not even their dad. “There are cameras in this room.” The alpha enunciated each word, easily controlling Dean who had resumed his struggles. “They don’t have audio, as far as I can tell, but we need to talk and I need you to stay calm.” 

Dean panted, not able to help the way his muscles twitched. Adrenaline was a bitch. There was still a chance this guy was full of shit, messing with him. There was also the chance he wasn’t. “I’m listening.” 

“My name is Castiel Novak. I used to be Seattle PD, did a lot of undercover work. John needed someone who had experience infiltrating criminal organizations.” He said it so matter-of-factly that Dean wanted to believe him. Castiel shifted above him, stubble on his chin brushing his shoulder and he shivered. The alpha either didn’t notice the reaction or ignored it and Dean wasn’t betting on the former. “I’ve been working with your dad, your brother and Charlie to find you. Couple PIs in the Midwest, too.” 

So his dad had reached out to Rufus and Bobby, after all, if this guy was telling the truth. He blinked at the pile beneath his cheek, trying to wrap his mind around the idea of actually getting away from here. He’d been planning on it, sure, but part of him had given up if he were honest. A hand moving to grip his hip made him start. 

“Sorry. They expect me to be touching you.” Castiel murmured into his shoulder. His lips didn’t brush Dean’s skin, but he realized that was probably what it looked like to anyone watching. Dean was still shaking from adrenaline, having geared himself up to fight earlier, with nothing to do with it now, and Castiel’s thumb rubbing circles against his hip was confusing his body about what he was supposed to be happening. “What are you okay with me doing right now?” 

That damn deep, gravelly voice of his was doing things to him Dean was a little ashamed of given the circumstances. He turned his face into the carpet, hoping to block some of Castiel’s scent from reaching his nose. “Whatever.”

Castiel gripped his hair, turning his head around so he could meet Dean’s eyes. “I need specifics, Dean.” 

He looked stern and disapproving and apparently Dean had a thing for that. Or maybe he just had a thing for Castiel? It was hard to tell the difference at the moment. He was already half hard, not that the alpha could tell with him on his stomach, but Dean could feel the telltale signs of slick slowly but surely starting to leak from his ass and there was no hiding the scent of that. Yeah, whatever, he thought. Might as well make the best of it. 

“Make me come. Please,” he added, feeling desperate. He just wanted to feel something good after weeks of hell and Castiel was offering it to him on a silver platter. 

The alpha searched his eyes and must have been satisfied with what he found because he let go of Dean’s hair and his face landed back against the carpet. Castiel shifted so he was straddling Dean’s hips, the bulge in his pants (Castiel wasn’t even hard, Jesus Christ) pressing against the crease of his ass. The hand that had been on his hip wedged between Dean and the carpet until fingers could curl around his dick. Dean went hard at the contact, zero to fuck yes in a second, bucking into Castiel’s fist. He really hoped the alpha was right about there being no mics in the room because the moan that was ripped out of his throat was so loud he felt himself blush. 

Castiel whispered nonsense into his ear, letting Dean fuck his hand, rocking his hips against Dean’s ass. It was just a hand job, but it was so good, heaven, and when he felt the alpha start to stiffen in his pants, Dean was surprised to find himself coming already, spilling against the carpet and Castiel’s hand, his hole clenching around nothing, pushing wetness down over his balls. He was trembling and it was stupid, this was hardly his first orgasm, but he’d been on edge for so long and it seemed all of that had leaked out of his dick along with his come. 

Castiel ran a soothing hand up and down Dean’s side as he came down, the fist around his dick just cupping him now, hips pressed to Dean’s ass. “You didn’t,” he started to ask, sounding like he was drunk, pushing back against Castiel’s groin. 

“No,” Castiel said, clipped. Dean was wondering how you ask the guy who pretended to buy you from sex traffickers if he wanted to get off when he was pressing what felt like a very impressive erection against you. But Castiel lifted his hand from Dean’s side to touch the collar around his neck. “Can this get wet?” 

Dean flinched at the contact, but nodded. Castiel extracted his hand from under Dean and wiped it off on the carpet before standing. Dean didn’t move. Between the orgasm and the relief of impending escape, he felt drained. Castiel had to all but pick him up and herd him into the shower. That was kind of hot. Dean wasn’t a dainty omega, never even saw himself as the wanting-to-be-carried type, but right now it was...nice. 

Castiel went to the bathroom and left Dean sitting on the toilet, the plastic of the lid cold against his ass, then started the shower. Dean’s breathing had just started to slow back down to normal when Castiel reached for the buttons of his shirt, slipping them free with economical movements, toeing off his shoes at the same time. The shirt was tossed into the corner, followed quickly by his pants. Dean couldn’t look away from all that bare skin, cataloguing the scars that littered almost every surface. Christ, he had been shot a lot. Stabbed, too. If anything it made him hotter, which Dean hadn’t thought was possible. 

Dean also didn’t think it was realistic to get hard again so soon after coming, but his dick sure was giving it a valiant effort. 

And speaking of dicks, Dean’s assessment of the alpha’s had been right on the money. And he was still hard. How had he been able to walk with that thing trapped in his pants? And more importantly, how did Dean get his hands on it? Or his mouth. Or, better yet, his ass. He’d been in the middle of a weird dry spell before the whole kidnapping shit show went down. And seriously, Dean wanted to forget everything and get fucked right now, but Castiel seemed interested only in shampooing his hair once he got the cuffs off and had him under the shower spray. 

Huh. It still felt nice, so he relaxed under Castiel’s hands, rubbing his wrists where the cuffs had dug into his skin. Eyes closed, leaning against the wall, he asked, “How’d you get roped into this whole thing, anyway?” 

“I’ve known your father a long time.”

“Really? He’s never mentioned you.” 

Castiel sighed, the sound filled with exasperation. “He may have called me Jimmy,” he said under his breath and steered Dean under the spray to rinse his hair. 

When he was pulled away from the water, Dean wiped his eyes and stared at Castiel in disbelief. “ _ You’re  _ Jimmy?” 

“Whatever John told you is a wild exaggeration,” he replied sullenly and started soaping up Dean’s arms. 

His dad talked about his childhood best friend a lot, more so in recent years with sadness about how long it had been since they saw each other, but it was hard to reconcile the kid his dad used to start trouble with, with the man in front of him. “You’re not what I expected.” 

“I’m not really myself right now.” His hands slowed when they got to Dean’s shoulders, spreading the soap across his skin, down his chest. “I have to play a role to get you out of here and it’s easier if I don’t let it drop for too long.” 

The alpha’s thumb brushed his nipple, by accident or on purpose, it didn’t matter, it still had him swallowing a moan. To distract himself, he asked, “How are you getting me out of here exactly?” 

“We can talk about that later. Right now, I need to get you ready for what’s going to happen tonight.” 

“And that is?” 

“They’re holding a party.” He paused, looked up at Dean from where he knelt to wash Dean’s legs and feet. “In the dungeon.” 

“Why am I not surprised they have a dungeon?” It was rhetorical and the alpha didn’t answer, only continued his task of washing Dean, hands moving steadily up his thighs. Dean shifted his stance, widening his legs. Hope springs eternal and all that crap, but the alpha didn’t touch any of his fun places. He pushed to his feet and handed Dean the body wash so he could do it himself while the alpha washed his own hair. Dean rolled his eyes, but finished cleaning up, leaning against the wall to watch Castiel shower. 

“How familiar are you with BDSM?” 

“Huh?” He lifted his eyes from Castiel’s ass, smirking at the alpha’s raised brow. “Oh, uh. Just what I’ve seen in porn.” 

Castiel grunted, shouldering Dean aside so he could rinse off. “This won’t be anything like that. But I do need to know what you are and aren’t okay with.” 

“As far as what?” Dean crossed his arms over arms across his chest and watched Castiel, unabashedly. Studying. He didn’t seem to want to touch Dean more than he needed to—it was frustrating. Dean wasn’t used to getting turned down. Yeah, sure, maybe Castiel was just a consummate professional, but Dean wanted the alpha’s hands on him and that was beside the fact that the people running this operation more than likely expected Castiel to have Dean chained to the bed with his ass in the air by now. “If you’re asking if you can fuck me, I’m down.” 

Castiel finished and stepped into Dean’s personal space, caging him against the wall, a hand planted on either side of Dean’s head, but still they weren’t touching. The room was filled with steam, the sounds of the water hitting the tile echoing around them, making the world shrink down to him and Castiel—--alpha and omega. Dean could still smell the alpha over the scents of shampoo and body wash, his chest expanding when he inhaled to pull more of it in. 

“I’d rather it not come to that, but if it does, fine.” Dean might have been imagining it, but he thought Castiel’s voice went deeper. “But I’m talking about more than sex. I need to know how much pain you can take. If you can handle being humiliated, being put on display, having a room full of people enjoy your suffering.” 

This close they were eye to eye, the difference in their height barely noticeable. Dean raised his chin. “Whatever it takes. As long as I get out of here. If I can make a few of them bleed on the way out, it would be even better.” 

“Be sure,” Castiel said. “Because once we’re down there you can’t change your mind.” 

“Bring it.” 

  
  


* * *

Castiel felt Dean tense as soon as they walked through the set of doors the guards held open. He kept his own posture straight, but relaxed, hiding the way the cries and screams filling the room made him want to take one of the guard’s guns and start shooting. The element of surprise would give him a slight advantage, but eventually the guards would get the upper hand because this was a basement with only one route of egress, filled with terrified omegas who would start to panic. The stench of their fear permeated the room, but Castiel seemed to be the only buyer who found it disturbing. 

He tugged on the leash attached to the collar around Dean’s neck, this one thinner that the other, but still fitted with electrodes. When Castiel expressed a desire for something prettier for his pet, Azazel knocked on the door, carrying a tray. 

“Zachariah picked it out specifically,” he informed Castiel, sick pleasure suffusing the slight smile that curved his lips. “With your permission?” 

They both knew damn well Azazel didn’t need Castiel’s permission to enter the room, he was merely pandering to Moscone. Still, Castiel stepped back, opening the door wide enough for the beta to pass through. Dean was kneeling on the floor, hands chained to the footboard because leaving him completely unbound would raise suspicions. The omega zeroed in on the collar, thin and delicate, pink leather and ruffles. “I sure as fuck know that ain’t for me,” he growled at Azazel. 

Before the beta could react, Castiel pulled Dean’s head back by his hair, leaning low to whisper in Dean’s ear loud enough for Azazel to hear, “Behave. If you’re a good boy, I’ll let you come again later. You looked so pretty last time.” 

Dean struggled for a moment before relaxing and letting the beta switch out his collar with no more than narrowed eyes. He’d smelled angry but turned on, the scent of slick faint but  _ there  _ and it was messing with Castiel’s mind. He had been so close to taking Dean up on his silent offer in the shower—this was John’s kid, though, he was so young, and getting involved under these circumstances seemed like a disaster in the making. But he had been tempted. As much as Castiel had tried to prepare John for all eventualities, up to and including having to have sex with Dean, he found himself wondering if it would mess up his chances of something happening with Dean later and that thought was… untenable. 

It was just his luck that the first time he was attracted to anyone since his ex-wife, it would have to be now; it would have to be  _ Dean _ —there couldn’t be a more inappropriate focus for his desires, but everything in his body didn’t care, was screaming that there couldn’t be anything more right. 

This was not the time for any of that, however, because he could feel Dean gearing up for a fight. He didn’t know the kid from Adam, but Castiel just knew on some intrinsic level. Perhaps because he felt it himself and the sights, sounds,  _ smells _ in the room. Not just fear, but terror, overlaid by sadistic glee and arousal from the alphas wielding what amounted to torture devices in their hands on unwilling omegas. It was sick and twisted, but he was used to ignoring his own personal feelings in undercover work—Dean wasn’t. He struck Castiel as the punch first, ask questions later type. 

A tug on the leash distracted Dean long enough for Castiel to get them farther in the room. It was open save for columns bracing the ceiling and set up to look like a medieval dungeon with stone walls affixed with shackles, stocks and cages. He mentally rolled his eyes at the pretense. The rest of the space was filled with more bondage equipment like St. Andrew’s crosses and spanking benches. He was at least familiar with everything here, having dabbled in college with BDSM before meeting his ex-wife, a fact he was grateful for since it meant he knew how to wield the implements to deliver plain and not accidentally hurt the omega more than he needed to. Being a Dom might have been a passing lark at the time, but Castiel had taken his training, and the care and trust of his sub, seriously, like he did everything else he did. While Castiel hadn’t felt the desire to take on a sub full time, he understood what a responsibility it was. 

Having Dean’s wellbeing in his hands, having the omega’s trust, having felt the way Dean had given himself to Castiel in the room earlier, he could understand the appeal in a way he never had before. 

That was a problem. 

More than that, what was happening in this room was making a mockery of everything he had been taught. And Castiel was about to do the same—doing things to Dean they hadn’t explicitly agreed upon. He could only hope he didn’t do irreparable damage to Dean or his ability to trust Castiel later because he wanted there to be a later. Or the possibility of it. 

Gritting his teeth, Castiel stopped beside a spanking bench and gripped the back of Dean’s neck, fingers just shy of pressing on the omega’s scent glands. Dean tensed before realizing what Castiel was doing and went limp, leaning against his side. 

“You need to calm down,” he whispered against Dean’s ear. “If you do something stupid, we’ll both be screwed because I’m not going to let them do anything to you without going through me first, do you understand? Be patient.” 

Dean gave a slight nod of his head, though he didn’t smell any more pleased than he had a moment ago. That was fine since he wasn’t supposed to be happy. 

“Good boy,” he praised, pitching his voice louder, forcing a mocking lilt to his words, and maneuvered Dean over the bench. He hated putting the omega on display like this, but everyone else in the room would be too busy looking at other parts of the omega to worry about what his expression gave away. He tightened the restraints enough to ensure Dean didn’t hurt himself, couldn’t resist pressing a kiss, nothing more than a brush of his lips, against Dean’s temple before he stood. The younger man jolted at the contact, tried to look up at Castiel, but was prevented by the leash that was connected to an o-ring on the floor. It was just as well. He felt like he was compromised when it came to Dean and getting them both out of here depended on him keeping his shit together and being a goddamn professional.

With that thought in mind, he adopted a bored expression and ran an idle finger down Dean’s spine, head tilted as he contemplated the rack of equipment on the wall. He needed to make this look convincing, like he wanted to hurt Dean, which was harder than he had thought it would be when this situation was hypothetical. He felt Dean shift beneath his hand, inhale to speak, and casually said, “Don’t make me gag you.” 

“Fuck you,” the younger man snapped, but it lacked heat. Castiel’s lips twitched, but he quashed the smile before it could form and hooked his finger under the strap of a ball gag, along with a blindfold. Castiel reasoned, as he crouched down in front of Dean, it was probably for the best. Dean wasn’t the best actor and this would ensure he couldn’t say something both of them would regret. The blindfold would block out the sights of the room, cut down on the distractions. If there were earplugs, he would have used those, too. As surreptitiously as he could, Castiel met Dean’s gaze. “Don’t pay attention to anything else. Just focus on me and what I’m doing.” 

“How do you suggest I do that?” Dean asked slowly, through gritted teeth, flinching when an omega somewhere else in the room screamed. 

“This will help.” Castiel tied the blindfold in place then ran his thumb across Dean’s lower lip. “Open.” Dean hesitated, working his jaw, before doing when Castiel asked, balking slightly when the rubber ball slid between his teeth. “Shh,” he soothed before he stood, ignoring the fact that he scent marked Dean when he pulled his hand away. That was… too personal. He hadn’t done that with anyone except his ex-wife since he was a child. 

He turned back to the equipment rack, putting his mind back to the task at hand. Something that would leave marks and hurt without causing permanent damage. Taking a deep breath, he blocked out the clamor, tried to center himself like he’d been taught so many years ago while running his finger down the length of a rattan cane, and sunk himself into the role of Eddie Moscone.

Dean flinched when the tip of the cane landed between his shoulders. Castiel—Eddie—smiled. “It’s time to play, pet.”

Castiel would have warmed Dean up; Eddie, though… Eddie was a piece of shit. He pulled back his arm and brought the cane down against the skin between the omega’s upper thigh and the lower curve of his ass, pressing the wood against the reddened flesh. Behind the gag, Dean groaned and his hips twitched forward as much as the padded leather beneath him would allow. Castiel gave Dean no time to breathe through it, laying lines down his thighs, across his ass. He made sure not to break skin, but bruises were blooming already, blue and purple. The only comfort he offered, the only kind he could give, was an occasional hand against the omega’s back, over sweat slicked skin.

It was going to be a long night. 


	7. Chapter 7

Shouldn’t have opened my big mouth, Dean thought, following drunkenly along behind Castiel. The alpha held the leash attached to his collar loosely in his hand and Dean trailed behind him through the hallway like a loyal dog. Bring it, he’d said. It had been broughten all over his ass and not in a way he usually enjoyed. All over his thighs, too. Had Castiel smacked the bottom of his feet? The tenderness of his soles against the carpet suggested that, yeah, he had, but not as much as he had other areas of Dean’s body. Dean was kind of mush and… floaty, demonstrated by the fact he had actually used the word ‘floaty’. 

What the fuck was  _ that _ about? Had to be how run down he was. Lack of sleep and barely any food would do that. 

His jaw ached from the damn gag, his body was bruised, sore, and the light was hurting his eyes after the blindfold. But he hadn’t hated it, exactly. The circumstances, yeah—Dean wanted to blow this building up and watch it burn to the ground along with Zachariah and his ilk. Except having Castiel work him over like that had him hovering on the edge of turned the fuck on once he was able to block everything else out. There was obviously something wrong with him. 

He stumbled remembering the alpha’s gentle hands undoing the cuffs around his wrists and ankles, thumb wiping drool from the corner of his mouth when he slipped the gag free from between his teeth. He bumped against Castiel’s shoulder and took a drag of his scent like an ex-smoker smelling a cigarette. A curious, sidelong glance from the alpha had him pulling back with a surreptitious shrug of apology. 

When they got back to the room, Dean was led to the bathroom and under the shower spray. He didn’t realize until the warm water hit his skin that he was shaking, fine tremors wracking his body. The water helped, but Castiel’s warm skin pressing him against the shower wall was better. Castiel stroked Dean’s skin, mindful of the bruises, and he spoke with his lips pressed against Dean’s temple. “You did so well.” 

He shouldn’t care, but he melted at the praise. Instead of purring like he wanted, he allowed himself to be petted, and grunted, letting the wall take more of his weight. Couldn’t help but make some kind of comment though. “I’m repaying the favor one of these days.” 

He didn’t even mean it, he didn’t think, but Castiel’s deep chuckle made his lips twitch. He didn’t think it was a good sign how much he wanted to cling to the alpha. His brother would probably have some fancy explanation for it, but Sam wasn’t here and, fuck it, he wanted Castiel as close as he could get, reasons be damned. Why didn’t really matter. 

“Cas,” he rasped. The alpha’s head popped up from where he had been nuzzling Dean’s neck, looking surprised and a little guilty, which Dean didn’t get at all. Dean, smooth operator that he was (he swore he normally had game, but he couldn’t find any of it right now), blurted out, “We should have sex.” 

“Dean,” Castiel started, obviously about to point out how it was a bad idea. Dean wasn’t having that. 

“Take me to bed,” he said, forestalling all the no doubt reasonable things Castiel was going to say. “And not just because I don’t think I can get there by myself.”

The other man sighed, lips pursed, but there was something in his eyes that made Dean think he was winning. “What am I going to do with you?” 

“Hopefully fuck me until I can’t move,” he replied with a smirk, trying to cover up everything he was feeling, how much he  _ needed _ this. Something that was just for him, hard to come by in an illegal sex mansion full of cameras. Castiel had almost made him forget when he was tied to that bench, something he hadn’t thought was possible. He might get out of here or it might go horribly wrong, and if he was being honest, he didn’t want to die without knowing what Castiel felt like inside of him. His eyes dipped to the alpha’s cock, long and intimidating even laying soft against his thigh, nestled in a bed of trimmed, dark hair. Under normal circumstances, the fact that the other man seemed to be showing a complete lack of interest in him would have given him pause, but his junk wasn’t looking up for the occasion either and he wanted this more than he wanted his next breath. Soldiering on, Dean raised his brows, leering at Castiel’s junk. “Don’t think you’ll have a problem with that.” 

“Dean.” The stern tone to the alpha’s voice, all deep and raspy like something right out of one of his wet dreams, had him looking up. Castiel asked a question without saying a word. It was there in the depths of his blue eyes. 

“I need this, Cas.” The words felt ripped from his throat, more honest than he had wanted to be, but whether or not he _ should _ , he trusted Castiel and the alpha was so damn easy to lean on. “I need to forget. Just for a little while.” Dean didn’t beg, ever, but he felt compelled to add, “Please.” 

The change that came over Castiel’s face was hard to explain. It seemed to soften and harden into resolve at the same time. It did things to Dean, the first signs of arousal pooling low in his gut, tingling at the base of his spine. 

The shower cut off and Castiel left Dean for a second to grab a towel, but it was long enough for the shivering to start up again before he was wrapped in fluffy softness while the alpha dried him off. It was weird letting someone take care of him, but he let it happen and not just so he appeared to whoever was watching that Castiel (or whatever name he was going by here) had him under control, that the rabid, mouthy omega was tamed. It was… damnit, it was nice. 

Then Castiel picked him up and Dean let out an undignified yelp. He kind of forgot that, yeah, Castiel could  _ do that.  _ He was carried to the bed like he was some dainty omega and not… him. Even with the weight he’d lost, he wasn’t small and he was still the taller of the two. The alpha carried him like it was nothing and he was getting turned on again by things that normally annoyed him. Either everything he’d ever thought he was attracted to was wrong or he had developed a Castiel-specific kink. 

Eh, either way, whatever. He was about to get laid. 

Castiel moved him until Dean was sprawled on top of him on the bed, the lights out, and Dean’s face pressed to his chest. He wiggled, smirking when Castiel grunted, and felt the alpha’s cock twitch against the inside of his thigh. Hellooooo, nurse. That was what he was talking about, but if Castiel thought Dean was about to ride him into the sunset, he had another thing coming.

Leveraging himself up on his elbows even though he couldn’t see him clearly in the dark, Dean said, “Uh, no offense since this was my idea, but I don’t think I can do all the work here.”

“Wasn’t expecting you to,” he answered, hands moving down Dean’s spine, making him arch like a cat, before ghosting his fingers over the mottled skin of Dean’s ass. “This will be easier for you.” 

“Mm, good point,” he murmured, settling back down against Castiel, who continued to touch him with sure, easy strokes of his hands. “You, uh, seemed to know your way around the stuff in that room.” 

He felt Castiel shrug. “I dabbled in BDSM when I was in college. It was never anything serious, but I know enough to make it look convincing and not send you to the hospital.”

“So, what, like a hundred years ago?” He asked then swore when Castiel swatted him lightly. He said, “Ow,” even though it hadn’t really hurt. 

“You’re not funny.” Castiel sounded annoyed but he resumed running slow circles into the swells of his ass.

“I’m hilarious.” One of Castiel’s hands lifted away and he missed it immediately. He opened his mouth to complain, but a finger slid between his cheeks and found his hole, spreading the slick it found around the rim. Dean moaned, legs spreading wider, knees digging into the mattress on either side of Castiel’s hips, pushing up into the touch. The single digit pushed inside and Castiel set up a leisurely pace, thrusting it inside slowly. Too slowly. Even as he rolled his hips, Dean bitched, “Get inside me already.” 

“I am,” was the calm reply he got, along with another finger pushing in along with the first. 

“That’s not what I mean and you damn well know it, Cas.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“I’ll be fine,” he said with more confidence than he felt. It had been a while and the alpha was blessed in the dick department, even more than Dean originally thought now that he felt the whole, hard length of him. He just didn’t care, wanted to feel Castiel split him wide. Wedging a hand between their bodies, Dean wrapped it around Castiel’s dick and started playing dirty. 

“Alpha.” It came out with a whine, Castiel’s answering growl forcing more slick to leak around his fingers. Fingers that were pulled free after a few more thrusts, replaced moments later with the blunt head of Castiel’s dick. Dean pressed back, too much, too fast, but didn’t stop. 

“Fuck your mother,” he groaned, trying to take more. The stretch was good, but it burned. 

“What?” 

“Nothing, sorry, you’re just really fucking big. I’m sure your mother was a saint.” 

“Naomi was a horrible bitch, but that’s neither here nor there.” Castiel’s fingers dug into his hips, halting his progress. “Dean, stop.” 

“No, I’m fine.” He tried to fight the hold, but he wasn’t at his best right now. Castiel held him still easily. The alpha’s teeth scraped his jaw, nipped at his chin, made him settle, if reluctantly. 

“Shh, Dean. We’ll get there. We have time.” Did they? He couldn’t help but think and he must have said the words out loud because Castiel’s hand, work roughened and steady, cupped his jaw. “I’m going to try my best to get you out of here. Okay?” 

Castiel didn’t say he  _ would _ , Dean noticed, but it was hard to care when Castiel was still hard inside of him. And if he thought about it, he might give into the burning behind his eyes. He nodded, let his eyes fall shut because he couldn’t see much anyway, and rolled his hips. The hand still on his hip tightened, pulled Dean another inch onto the alpha’s cock. Together, inch by inch, they moved until Castiel was balls deep. Dean let out a shuddering breath at how good it felt. 

Castiel hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t expect Dean to do any of the work, setting a rhythm of gentle thrusts, rocking up into Dean. Dean clung to him, hiding his face in the alpha’s neck, breathing in his scent, tonguing the gland below Castiel’s ear where it was strongest, wanting Castiel in him every way he could have him. The alpha shifted beneath him, moving his hips, and suddenly there was pressure against his prostate and Dean lifted his head to gasp, clenching around the length inside him. 

Castiel’s breathing went heavy, thrusts uneven, half blown knot bumping against Dean’s rim before pushing inside with a sound that could only be described as obscene because he was so wet. That was all it took. He came so hard he saw stars. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to be knotted—this was the worst possible time, in a house full of people who would kill him without hesitation—that he’d forgotten how good it felt and something was different with Castiel. The alpha held him tight enough to bruise, one hand fisted in Dean’s hair, teeth and lips leaving marks on his neck, but, God, he felt almost… cherished as the man beneath him groaned and came inside him, knot locking them together. 

Dean was crying before he realized it and of course, Castiel knew. He smelled the salt in the air or felt the wetness against his chest, but however he knew, Dean’s head was tucked under the alpha’s chin, the position awkward, as Castiel whispered soothing nonsense into his ear while Dean shook and let out all the anguish from weeks of torture and uncertainty. 

Nothing was okay. They might die tomorrow, the escape plan whatever it was could go horribly wrong, but somehow, in the arms of a virtual stranger, with jizz drying on their skin, Dean had never felt safer. 

* * *

Dean fell asleep not long after his crying jag started. He woke disoriented, curled on his side, thinking Castiel was a dream, he was never getting out, but at the first sound of distress he was pulled back against a broad chest. 

“Morning,” was rumbled against his ear like he hadn’t been on the verge of a freak out. Dean appreciated that, but didn’t say it. 

They showered together again—Cas had wiped them both down the night before, but their skin was still sticky and as soon as Dean stood up to pee, he felt come sliding down the inside of his thigh. Cast dressed in another suit Dean wanted to rip off with his teeth; Dean got the pink leash clipped to the collar around his neck. “Really?” he asked, expression flat. 

“It’s part of the illusion.” 

He snapped, “Illusion of what? That I’m a dog?” 

“That you’re owned,” Cas replied, calmly, stepping closer until he had Dean backed against the wall. “These people treat omegas like things. Things that they can break and then throw away because they can just get a new one.” 

Dean hadn’t said anything to that, stewed all the way to the dining room where breakfast was being served. Dean played his part, kneeling next to Castiel’s chair, accepting the pieces of fruit and bread the alpha fed Dean with his fingers, studying the other occupants of the room from under his lashes. Considering what the other omegas looked like, Dean was counting himself lucky. A lanky blonde, sprawled at the feet of a female alpha who looked like she bought her clothes at the same store as Martha Stewart, had a black eye and his beak of a nose looked broken. An Asian kid was shaking with fear, the smell of it stinking up the room as the politician looking bastard with his hand fisted in his dark hair calmly sipped a mimosa and traded stock tips with the man seated at his right. That guy, youngish, with a sadistic light burning in his blue eyes, had one omega—dark skin, looking way too young to be here, not that  _ any _ of them should be here—perched on his lap with his hand cupped over the omega’s flaccid cock, another at his feet—light brown hair and blue eyes—leaning against his thigh, looking drugged halfway to hell, nuzzling the alpha’s dick. 

People are eating here, dude, he thought, hiding a grimace against Castiel’s leg. No one seemed to have a problem with it, some of the alphas and a few of the guards looking on with expressions ranging from want to greed. This place was a garbage fire. 

Dean whiled away the time between eating, ranking the alpha’s in order of who he wanted to kill first to last. The order kept changing as the hour wore on, depending on what shitty thing they did. Then Zachariah walked in with some freak beta with yellow eyes and pushed his way to the top his Murder List. 

He spoke with all the alpha’s, making the rounds like a demented cruise director, before finally stopping next to Castiel’s chair. Castiel calmly sipped his coffee, petting Dean’s hair, tugging on it once in warning to keep quiet. Dean dropped his eyes to hide the way they rolled and moved his knee so it was right on top of the alpha’s foot. He wasn’t stupid, thanks, dude.

“I never thought I’d see the day our Dean would be so well behaved,” Zachariah commented, sounding astonished. Eat a dick, Dean thought, glaring at the carpet. 

“It merely takes the right approach,” Castiel said, sounding bored. 

“I saw the show you put on last night. Must say I enjoyed it.” Dean wanted to throw up and bit back a growl. Zachariah went on speaking as if Dean weren’t there. “I had him for weeks and couldn’t seem to break him. If I’d known all it took was a caning...” 

“It’s not about the pain.” 

Dean could almost feel Zachariah’s confusion at that and shot Castiel a questioning look from the corner of his eye. He was ignored. “What do you mean?” 

The alpha slowly turned to look up at the beta. “Pain is only part of it. I much prefer to take a more psychological approach. To truly break someone, you need to give them something they need.” 

“And what’s that?” 

A slow smirk curved up a corner of the alpha’s lips. He looked like a completely different person and it was hard to reconcile the man in front of him with the one who had held him last night. “Hope,” Castiel said, “And once they have that, if you really want to break them, you take it away.” 

Dean felt something insidious slither through his chest. Castiel had been telling the truth, he had to be. There was no other way to know the things he knew about Dean’s family. Was there? a voice whispered in his mind. But, no, that was insane. Who would go to so much trouble to fuck with him? How would Castiel have even known Dean was here to prepare like that? Still, his mouth went dry and he tried to turn his eyes up to look at the alpha, but all hell broke loose before he could take his next breath. 

One of the omegas, the skinny, Asian kid, had grabbed a knife off the table, Dean saw light from the chandelier glint off the blade when he turned to look. The kid started slashing at the alpha he had been kneeling next to, at the guard who tried to grab the weapon from him, managing to cut the woman’s hand. A sound erupted in the room, loud and echoing off the vaulted ceilings. He knew what it was, but his mind shied away from it, even as a red hole appeared in the omega’s forehead a moment before he crumpled to the ground. A puddle of red started seeping out over the hardwood floor, soaking into the area rug when it reached it. 

Dean tensed to stand before the thought to move became a conscious decision, but Castiel was one step ahead of him. Strong fingers gripped his neck, digging into the sensitive glands on either side. He whined, going limp against Castiel’s leg, and gave him a look of pure betrayal. The pressure didn’t let up until Dean was drifting off, in that place between awake and asleep. 

He heard the guard with the accent yell at the one who fired, calling him a ‘trigger happy fool’, the alpha with the plastic smile lamented at what he was going to do with the rest of his stay now that his play thing was gone, and then Dean was being whisked out of the room to the chorus of Zachariah bitching about who was going to clean up the mess. 

He had never hated any people more than he hated the ones in that room. 


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel located an alcove he’d noticed was in a blind spot of the cameras and propped Dean against the wall, pressing their chests together to help keep the omega upright. The way Dean had looked at him earlier felt like a knife to the chest, but it had been the fastest way to ensure Dean didn’t end up dead himself, trying to help someone who was already beyond it. Castiel’s priority was Dean and keeping him safe, no matter how he had to do that. 

Dean made a grumpy sound coming out of the trance like state the pressure on his neck had put him in. When his eyes blinked open, watery hazel, it took a moment for the confusion to clear. When it did, Dean glared, pushing at him ineffectively, the strength in his limbs not back. “Get off me.”

“Dean, listen to me—”

“They shot him,” Dean broke in, voice choked. “He was a scared kid and they fucking shot him.” 

“And there was nothing you could have done to stop it,” Castiel said before Dean went too far off the deep end. “If you had tried, there would be two dead bodies.” 

He didn’t say that he would probably have gotten himself killed, too, trying to stop them, but that hardly mattered. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, head hitting the wall with a dull thud, and after a few deep breaths asked, “So, what’s your plan for escaping Hellview?” 

Eyes trained on the hallway to ensure no one overheard them, he said, “The estate’s called Fall River.” 

A beat of silence then, “Are you serious?” 

Castiel turned back to Dean. “Yes. Charlie found the information. It was owned by a man named Crowley before this organization bought it and the name stuck.” 

“When we get out of here, I’m giving you a crash course in music,” Dean said flatly, making Castiel’s brow pull down in confusion. What did music have to do with any of this? Before he could ask Dean prodded, “The plan?” 

“I get you out then I call in a friend I have at the FBI to—”

“Wait, wait.” Dean stared at Castiel incredulously. “What about the other omegas?” 

“Hendrickson is aware there are civilians on the premises. They aren’t my priority.” 

“They aren’t your  _ priority _ ? You can take that and shove it up your ass.” 

Castiel clenched his jaw, admitting, “I’m not even sure how to get  _ you _ out, Dean. The house is surrounded by a 15-foot tall, reinforced concrete wall with guard towers. They took my car when I got here, but even if I had access to a vehicle, the gate is made of solid steel. This place is locked down tighter than Fort Knox.” 

“So what you’re telling me is that you have no plan.” Dean shrugged. “Just means we don’t have to change anything to add three more people.” 

Castiel looked away with a curse. He had been banking on Dean helping him with the escape, but if he was refusing to leave without the other omegas, Castiel would have to incapacitate him, which meant his plan would have to include hefting him unconscious or bound out of there without getting caught.

That wasn’t feasible. He was being boxed in and when he exhaled and met Dean’s eyes, the smugness he saw there proclaimed Dean knew he’d won. Dean’s arms were crossed over his chest, putting all his lean muscles in stark relief. His eyes dipped down before he could think better of it. In an effort to get things back on track, he said, “We’d need help and we’re a bit short on options.” 

One of Dean’s brows twitched up, but he didn’t comment on the fact that Castiel had been checking him out. His expression went contemplative, eyes cutting to the side. “The guard.” 

“Which guard?” 

“The one with the weird accent,” he said with a gesture of his hand, as if it were obvious. “Tall guy, beard, seems to be in charge.” 

It clicked. “I met him the day I arrived. He’s the one who brought you to my room. Why would he help us?” 

“I don’t know if he will. Just,” Dean trailed off before shaking his head, “just a feeling I have.” 

“Bringing him in on this could be dangerous. He could go to his boss and it’s all over before it starts.” 

“Yeah, well, what are our chances without the help of someone on the inside?” 

Dean had a point, but Castiel would feel better if they knew something about the man first. If he could find the opportunity to use the sat phone Charlie equipped him with, he’d have her look into him. Castiel thought he heard someone call him ‘Lafitte’. Either way, he needed to put a call into Henriksen about the change in what little plan Castiel had before coming here. 

“I’ll have Charlie check him out before approaching him.” 

Dean’s eyes widened slightly. “You can talk to Charlie? Does that mean you can get a hold of my dad? And Sam?”

He sounded so hopeful that Castiel hated to disappoint him, a feeling that was disproportionate to the amount of time they had spent together. Castiel was afraid he was getting too attached—he gave a mental laugh at that. He was already so far beyond attached, but either way he couldn’t get Dean’s hopes up. “I could, but we have to be careful. If anyone finds out…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean mumbled, lips parted to say more, but Castiel heard a noise down the hall. Making a split second decision, he grabbed the back of Dean’s head, cutting off what he was about to say with his lips, and pressed him into the wall. Dean grunted, but melted into the kiss, hands slipping under the coat of Castiel’s suit to grip his sides. He turned his head to get a better angle, tongue slipping past Dean’s lips, groaning at the way he tasted, like strawberries and mango, using his free hand to cup the omega’s ass. Dean hissed, but didn’t stop him. 

A discrete cough behind them had Castiel pulling back, but he was slow about it, taking his time, biting Dean’s lower lip before looking over his shoulder. A guard on patrol stood behind them, trying to remain stoic and not smile at catching them making out in a hallway like horny teenagers. 

“Couldn’t wait,” he said, unapologetically, untangling his hand from Dean’s hair and uncurling his fingers from the omega’s backside to tug his jacket into place. Taking hold of the leash, Castiel gave it a tug and started in the direction of their room. “Come, pet.”

He ignored the smirk the guard tossed him. 

* * *

Dean was still reeling from the kiss, probably one of the better ones he’d had in his life, when they walked through the door. It was weird realizing he’d had sex with someone before they kissed, but not a hell of a lot about his life lately had been going the way it should. 

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Castiel’s hands were on him, teeth pressing against his neck below the collar, pushing him toward the bed. Once there, the other man spun him around and pushed him down. Dean grunted when his chest hit the mattress, turning his face to the side so he could see Castiel when the alpha kicked his legs open.

“Not that I’m not on board with whatever’s about to happen, but mind if I ask what brought this on?” he drawled. 

Castiel reached between them to undo his belt and nudged Dean’s chin up with his nose so he could nip at his throat. “That guard caught us in the hallway.” 

“Mhmm. And?” Castiel’s zipper went down, his pants and underwear shifted, and Dean bit his lip to stifle a needy whimper when Castiel pushed his dick between his cheeks, rutting into the valley between them. He was still pissed about the alpha taking advantage of one of his weaknesses when he more or less scruffed him in the dining room, but he wasn’t mad enough to tell Castiel to stop. 

“It would look strange if we didn’t…” Castiel’s voice was muffled from being pressed to his hair and the growl rumbling in his chest. 

“If we didn’t fuck? Come on, dude, you’re like twice my age. You can say the word,” he said.

“You’re a brat.” 

Dean’s glare morphed into a smirk and he rolled his hips back. “Feels to me you like me that way.” 

Castiel groaned, forehead dropping to Dean’s shoulder. “We just need to make it look like we’re doing something.” 

“Or we could actually do something. Personally, I vote for that option.” The alpha hadn’t stopped moving against him, didn’t seem to be aware he was doing it. Dean chose not to point it out and tried to shift enough to get the head of Castiel’s dick against his hole. It wouldn’t be exactly comfortable without being stretched first, but he was slick enough that he would still fit. Castiel stopped him with a hand on his hip. 

“We shouldn’t.” Castiel stilled, blanketing Dean’s back with his body. There was an undercurrent to his words, something Castiel wasn’t saying, or maybe he was reading too much into it. One hand took up slow strokes on his sides, the other running across his face. “I warned John certain things might be necessary, but I hoped it wouldn’t have to go this far. I’m sorry.” 

“Can you not talk about my dad while your dick is near my ass?” Dean tried to roll over, but Castiel held him in place and now it was starting to piss him off how easily Castiel could subdue him. “And what the hell are you apologizing for?” 

“I can’t help feeling like I took advantage of you.” 

“Oh, fuck you,” Dean snapped, causing Castiel’s eyes to widen. The alpha pulled back enough that Dean was able to half turn. “I might have jumped you a little faster than I would have normally,” he said before pausing. “Actually, if I met you in a bar, I probably would have dragged you into the bathroom for a blow job. Giving not receiving, though I do enjoy it the other way. 

Castiel’s face settled into a mien of displeasure. “Do you normally engage in sexual acts with strangers?” 

“Only when they’re really hot.” When Castiel didn’t smile, he sighed and rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to shake the alpha. “Look, I am consenting here. Enthusiastically. And I would really like it if you bent me over this bed and screwed my brains out. Lucky for you, you’re halfway there.”

He was pinned with serious blue eyes, an expression on his face Dean couldn’t decipher, not that he normally could tell what the man was thinking. “For the cover,” he finally said, the words landing like a bomb in the room. 

Dean forced a smile. “Yeah, sure.” 

Something inside him felt like it was breaking, but damned if he was going to admit that he had...what? He didn’t know this guy, he was just a coping mechanism in the midst of all this shit that his life had become, or some other psychobabble bullshit. He was not catching feelings. Dean didn’t do that anymore, anyway. It was too much hassle. He flopped onto his stomach and nudged Castiel with his ass. Both of them had softened a bit during the conversation, but he was confident he could get the alpha back up in no time. “Might want to grab my hair.” He wasn’t sure if he kept the bitterness out of the words when he added, “For the cover.” 

Dean pressed his face back into the mattress and Castiel grabbed his hair and for all his We-Shouldn’t-Do-This bitching, he slid inside Dean, rocking his hips until Dean came with a strangled moan, refusing his lift his head from the sheets because he knew, he fucking knew, his face would tell Castiel something he didn’t want the alpha to know. I’m an idiot, he thought, even as he shuddered and bit back a purr when the knot locked them together and Castiel came, filling Dean just the way he wanted. 

It was all for the cover, he reminded himself, as they both maneuvered themselves onto the bed to wait out the knot. 

All for the cover. 

  
  


* * *

Finding time to use the sat phone involved some slight of hand and a lot of setting up of situations where Castiel could slip away to use it that wouldn’t raise suspicion. Dean had been on rather good behavior for Castiel. No matter how good at psychological manipulation Marcone was supposed to be, there were bound to be setbacks. Dean wasn’t the type to roll over and take it. The plan wasn’t the most brilliant thing Castiel had ever devised, but it was all they had. 

“Are you sure about this?” Castiel asked Dean for the third time the night before and despite not being able to see the omega’s face, he knew Dean was rolling his eyes. 

“Yes. And if you ask me again, I swear to God, Cas.” 

He didn’t finish the threat, left it hanging there between them. Castiel didn’t prompt for more and soon he felt Dean’s breathing even out in sleep. It took Castiel a long time to follow. He was going to have to hurt Dean again, and the idea was gripping his heart like a vice. When the hell did I start caring about him this much? he asked himself before succumbing to the pull of exhaustion. The silence that met his question felt mocking. 

Dean’s performance the next morning was Oscar worthy. One moment he was kneeling by Castiel’s feet, eating pieces of fruit from the alpha’s fingers, then he was grabbing the knife from beside the plate and holding it to Castiel’s throat. Astride his thighs, teeth bared, Castiel could see it, the thing in him that made John trust Dean to watch his back. Sitting very still, he looked up into bright, hazel eyes. “We have to make this look believable.” 

“If you pull your punches, I’ll kick your ass,” Dean replied, the knife pressing against Castiel’s skin enough to draw blood. “Do it,” he growled, pressing harder when Castiel didn’t move. 

He pretended his hands weren’t shaking when he reached his hand in his pocket and pressed the button on the remote. Stopped himself from breaking Dean’s fall when the omega’s muscles seized up and he tipped toward the floor. Castiel stood, calmly walked to the closet, and grabbed one of his ties, stuffing it into his pocket. There were cuffs attached to the end of the bed, something Castiel had been ignoring, but were useful now. Dean was dragging himself up from the floor when Castiel walked back out, knocking over the strategically placed briefcase. He staggered a bit before finding his balance, facing Castiel with a sneer, ignoring the contents of the briefcase scattered across the floor. Castiel could only hope whoever was monitoring the cameras couldn’t see the compartment in the bottom that had popped open. “That all you got?” 

Castiel slowly shook his head. Dean swung when Castiel got close enough, but it went wide and was easily dodged. Dean wasn’t so lucky, but he also didn’t try to avoid the fist coming toward his face. It hit with a sickening crunch, his no doubt broken nose gushing blood down over his lips, dripping onto his chin. He clutched it, muffling his curse. Castiel ignored both the blood and the epithets, fisting a hand in Dean’s hair, and dragging him toward the foot of the bed. Once he had Dean on his knees, easier than it should have been, cuffs secured around his wrists and ankles, he forced the tie between Dean’s lips, tying it behind his head. The omega moaned at how the action jostled his injury and Castiel made himself ignore that, too. 

Like he didn’t have a person chained to his bed, Castiel crouched beside the briefcase, placing the items back inside methodically, slipping the sat phone in his pocket, and stood to place it back in the side table. He braced himself for the sight of Dean before turning, but it was hard to not be affected by his blood stained face and heavy breathing, but he did it. Because Castiel could make it up to the omega later, but not if he was dead. 

“I’m going for a walk,” he informed Dean, straightening his clothing, lips pursed at the speck of blood on his white shirt. “Take this time to think about what you’ve done.” 

Then he turned and left the room. He had phone calls to make and very few places where he could make them without being seen or overheard. 

He was going to get Dean out of here or die trying. Both seemed like a possibility at this stage. 

  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

It hadn’t been the first time his nose was broken and Dean figured it wouldn’t be the last. Castiel had a mean right hook and it made him strangely proud, which was ridiculous. Maybe it had rattled his brain. It sure left some impressive bruising. The bastard doctor in the infirmary had chuckled while setting his nose. 

“What exactly did Charlie say?” he asked quietly. He didn’t think there was anyone close enough to overhear them, but he didn’t want to take any chances. 

“I already told you,” Castiel said, hiding the movement of his lips behind his drink. 

“Pretend I’m stupid and tell me again.” There was a lot hinging on the shoddy plan they cobbled together. They wouldn’t just be getting themselves killed if it failed. 

“Lafitte has no seeming loyalty to his employer besides a financial one. And she found records of him sending money to a family member in Louisiana, a young girl. Before this, he was paramilitary.” Castiel sighed, lowered his arm, letting the glass dangle from his fingers over the edge of the arm rest, and lifted his free hand to card through Dean’s hair. “She agreed he’s our best bet if, and I quote, ‘You’re sure you want to be heroic idiots and try to get yourself killed.’ I don’t exactly disagree with her.” 

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that a time or twelve.” Dean tipped his head back to meet the alpha’s eyes. “What about Henriksen?” 

Castiel’s lips twisted. “He called me an idiot, too, but said he would do the best he could.” 

Which meant they had no guarantee that the feds would be there to back them up. Fantastic. A quick glance around the room made him more certain that they needed to get the others out when they left. If they tripped any kind of alarm on the way out or anyone in the house panicked when the FBI descended on them, they could decide to cut their losses and kill the omega’s instead of giving them the chance to talk. Dean wasn’t taking the chance. He shifted on his knees, grunting when the getup he had on rode even further up his ass. Figured the first clothes he was allowed to put on in weeks and he ended up looking like discount Princess Leia in the gold bikini. He tugged on the cloth draped down the front. “Was this necessary?” 

“Hush,” Casstiel said softly. 

Uh, what? “The fuck you just say?” 

“Zachariah is on his way over.” 

Dean tensed and forced himself to relax when Castiel stroked a thumb along his nape, trying to appear unaffected by the bastard’s oily smile or the way his eyes crawled all over Dean as he strode across the room like he owned the place, one hand casually tucked in his pocket. Dean wanted to claw his eyes out. Instead he gripped Castiel’s leg, knew his nails were pressing into the alpha’s skin, but it was that or launch himself across the room. Castiel didn’t move so he figured it was fine. 

“I see someone had a bad day yesterday,” Zachariah said when he was close enough, bending down slightly, voice going up an octave like he was talking to a puppy. Then he straightened. “I’m only sad I missed it myself. Had to watch the replay.” 

“Dean, go get me a drink,” Castiel ordered. Dean looked at him from the corner of his eye, trying to appear as submissive as he could. What was the alpha playing at? He kept his voice even, but Dean could hear the displeasure when he looked down and said, “Now.”

Dean stood slowly, leaving a wide path around the beta when he passed by. He heard Zachariah ask, “Are you sure that’s wise, Mr. Mascone?” 

“He’s learned his lesson,” Castiel assured him.

His first thought was  _ I hope you choke and die, Zach _ . His second was  _ Who the hell is Mr. Mascone?  _ before he remembered that was the cover name. Dean barely resisted rolling his eyes. It made him sound like he was in the mob. 

Dean kept his eyes straight ahead on the carpet in front of him not wanting to see anything going on in the room around him. He might do something stupid like pick up one of the ornamental book ends and bash one of the alpha’s faces in. Which is why he didn’t notice why Castiel had sent him over here until he was at the bar, which was thankfully empty except for a lone guard standing beside it, rifle against his chest. The one with the accent, the one Charlie had checked out. Castiel wanted Dean to approach him while he distracted Zachariah, the only one of the head honcho’s underlings that was in the room. 

Benjamin Lafitte didn’t look at Dean when he walked behind the bar and reached for a glass, but he was on alert, eyes scanning the room. Dean forced himself to stay calm and opened the ice bucket. He used the tongs to drop a few cubes in the crystal tumbler and said, “You don’t seem like you fit here.” 

“You shouldn’t be talkin’ to me,” the alpha said.

The other man kept his voice low like he had the night Dean had been in that cage in this very room. He could have easily ratted Dean out, but he didn’t. It made Dean feel surer when he asked, “What do they have over you?” Because he worked for bad people, but Dean was almost certain he wasn’t a bad man. 

“Don’t know what you mean.” 

“Right. Sure you don’t.” Dean turned and surveyed the bottles of expensive liquor lining the shelves on the wall, the fabric of the skirt thing he was wearing brushing his calves. He asked, “Who is she?” 

Dean couldn’t see him, but he  _ felt  _ the man stiffen. “What?” 

“The girl you send money to. Who is she? Daughter?” Lafitte was quiet, but it was a loaded silence. Dean decided on a bottle of Scotch that looked older than he was. When he turned back toward the bar, Lafitte hadn’t moved, but his hand was tight on his gun. 

“Who the fuck are you?” He sounded like he was speaking through his teeth, accent deepening with his anger. Dean kept his eyes on the cubes in the glass, watched as the amber liquid caused them to crackle and melt just slightly. 

“Who I am isn’t important. All you need to know is that I’m getting out of here and I’m taking them with me.” Dean didn’t clarify who he meant; Lafitte would know. “And I could use some help.” 

“And you think I’m gon’ help you?” 

The incredulity in his voice made Dean’s lips twitch with a smile that never formed. “I do,” he said, realizing he meant it. He wasn’t really sure why, but he did. He replaced the cap and returned the bottle to where it had been. 

“You’re an idiot, then,” Lafitte said, but there was something there, something that told Dean he was at least thinking about it. 

“Sometimes,” Dean said and picked up the glass. He wanted to throw back the booze so badly, but he couldn’t without bringing trouble down on their heads that they didn’t need. He was buying a twelve pack and the first bottle of whiskey he could find when this was over and drinking until he couldn’t remember his own name. “I don’t think this is one of those times. Think about it, Lafitte.” 

When he walked around the bar, he made sure to cross where the alpha stood. So quietly Dean almost couldn’t hear him, he said, “Name’s Benny.” 

And Dean knew he had him. He looked down at the ground and hid a smile. It wasn’t a nice thing. Zachariah was gone, off to ingratiate himself to someone else, when he got back to where Cas waited. He handed him the new glass and sat in Castiel’s lap. Castiel was surprised, but he curled his arm around Dean’s waist and waited. Dean leaned his head against the alpha’s shoulder and said, “He’s in. Let’s figure out how the fuck we’re getting out of here.” 

Because if he had to spend one more goddamn minute in this place he was going to snap. 

* * *

Castiel leaned against the stone balustrade behind him, arms crossed over his chest, and waited. Benny Lafitte wasn’t at all what he had expected. One hand was curved around the stone railing, the other bringing a cigarette to his lips, the tip flaring red in the darkness as he stared out over the lawn. The other alpha arranged for a “malfunction” to the camera in this area, buying them time to talk while he “checked it out”. 

“There are benefits to being in charge,” he had told Castiel with a smirk. 

Castiel outlined the plan, as bare bones as it was—incapacitating the clients (somehow), getting the omegas to a safe location (if they could find one), finding a vehicle and then driving them out. They would need weapons, but between the three of them, they could handle the other guards, he had assured. He was proud of himself for sounding so sure. 

“The three of us?” Lafitte asked. 

“You, me, and Dean,” Castiel answered, watching Lafitte closely to gauge his reaction, but all he got was a twitch of his brow and a nod. 

Lafitte ground the cigarette out against the stone, flicking it onto the grass down below, and finally broke the silence. “It ain’t gonna work.” 

“Why?” He didn’t really think it’s a good plan himself, but he wants to hear why Lafitte didn’t. 

The larger man leaned back against the railing, feet stretched out in front of him, arms across his chest, mirroring Castiel’s own posture. “There’s no way all the guards can be taken out at the same time, not to mention Alastair and his boys. One of them finds out what’s going on, they hit the panic button and this place locks down. The gate won’t open without a code and only Alastair has it.” 

Castiel filed that away, but asked, “Do you have any suggestions?”

“The tunnel,” he said, looking smug. 

“What tunnel?” 

“You think these bastards don’t have another way out besides the front door?” 

Castiel hadn’t, actually, but he also hadn’t considered an underground escape route. “You can get us in?” 

“Course I can. Wouldn’t’a brought it up otherwise, brother.” 

“Where does it lead?” 

“‘Bout a mile out into the forest,” he said, tipping his head toward the trees. 

Eyes trained in the direction indicated, Castiel calculated. An underground tunnel, assuming they could get to it undetected or with the least amount of resistance possible, would be better. He could have Henriksen leave people there waiting to pick them up while the FBI stormed the estate. “We’ll need a distraction.” He looked back at Lafitte. “Can the power be cut?” 

“It can, but there’s a backup generator.” 

“Could you cut the cameras?”

“All of them? Not a chance without Alastair coming out of his tower to investigate and trust me, brother, we don’t want that.” 

“I might know someone who can hack in and put the ones we need on a loop,” he said thinking of Charlie. If she was as good as John said she was, she could do it. One thing he wondered about though. “Would Alistair notice?” 

Lafitte shrugged. “He’s not a tech genius; he’s just paranoid.” 

“Right,” he murmured. “Have any bright ideas about how to separate the clients from the omegas?” 

“Could poison them,” Lafitte suggested and Castiel frowned. 

“I’d like to not use lethal force unless necessary.”

He got an eye roll he could just barely see in the low light. “I said poison, not murder. Somethin’ that’ll make them sick. They’d head to medical and leave the boys in their rooms.” 

“Can you take care of that?” 

“Sure. Still the other guards to consider.” 

“They can be subdued if the cameras aren’t a problem. What about weapons?” 

The other alpha snorted. “Seems like I’m doing most of the heavy lifting.” 

“It’s an unfortunate necessity. No offense, but I’d rather not rely on you this much. I don’t have a choice, though.” 

“You don’t pull any punches, do you?” he asked with an arched brow. Castiel shrugged. What would be the point in lying? He still wasn’t sure if he trusted Lafitte, but Dean said he trusted Lafitte  _ enough _ and Castiel trusted Dean. Also, as Dean had pointed out, they didn’t have a lot of choice. They just had to remember that the alpha might try and double cross them and be prepared. 

“Right, well,” Lafitte drawled, straightening from the wall, “looks like I have a lot of work to do. I suggest you get back to your room. Camera here won’t be out much longer.”

Lafitte passed him on his way back inside and Castiel grabbed his arm. When the other alpha looked at him over his shoulder, Castiel asked, “Why are you doing this?” 

“The enemy of my enemy and all,” is all he said.


	10. Chapter 10

“She sounded offended when I asked if she could loop the security footage,” Castiel said the next day. They were sitting in the hot tub, or Dean was sitting in Castiel’s  _ lap  _ in the hot tub, because apparently the place had one of those. The luxury of this house that hid so much evil made Dean see red. 

They were the only ones there, but the ever present cameras were watching. With Dean’s head tucked against the alpha’s neck, it sure as fuck didn’t look like they were discussing escape plans. And, hell, if the alpha’s scent was calming the nerves Dean was pretending didn’t exist, no one knew but him. 

Dean snorted, trailing his lips up Castiel’s neck. This little bubble they were in was ending one way or another and Dean wanted to file away as many memories as he could before Castiel wasn’t in his life anymore. As far as Castiel was concerned, Dean was a job. Dean’s feelings weren’t his problem. “Of course she did,” he finally said into Castiel’s ear, “you insulted her.” 

“How?” 

He didn’t need to pull back to know the alpha was frowning so he didn’t, choosing instead to arch his back and press his ass into the hand Castiel was cupping one of his cheeks with. “You made it sound like you didn’t think she could do it.” 

“No, I didn’t. I just wanted to make sure.” 

“That right there was where you went wrong.” Dean looped his arms around Castiel’s neck and leaned back to meet his eyes. “If it involves computers, Charlie can do it.” 

“Alright,” he acquiesced easily, pressing a kiss to Dean’s shoulder. Dean tipped his head to give the alpha more access. It was something Dean normally didn’t allow, but with Castiel it felt right. 

“Did Benny come through?” he asked, running his fingers through the hair at the nape of Castiel’s neck. 

Castiel hummed noncommittally. “We’ll see. If he did, be prepared to act sick at lunch.” 

“He’s really going to lace the food?” 

“Enough to incapacitate them, apparently.” 

“I can’t wait to see that,” Dean said, voice filled with glee. 

“Dean.”

“What?” he groused at the subtle reprimand. “Projectile vomit is the least of what they deserve.” 

A sigh gusted against his skin. “I guess you have a point.”

“Damn right I do.” 

One large hand ran up his back, Castiel looking more serious than normal. “Are you ready?” 

Dean smirked. “I’m always ready.” 

“I’m serious, Dean.” 

His face went hard. “So am I. I’ve been thinking about this since the moment I woke up here. I had nothing to do but think about escaping and handing out some pay back on the way out the door.” Castiel searched his face. Finally, he nodded. “Guess we should go,” Dean said, not able to keep all the disappointment out of his words. Castiel either didn’t notice or ignored it and handed him a towel when they climbed out of the water. He should be happy, ecstatic; he should feel like he won the lottery and got a lifetime supply of pie, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he was losing something he never had to begin with. 

“Hey, Cas?” 

“Yes, Dean?” 

Dean opened his mouth to say… something that was probably stupid. Good thing he turned chicken shit. “Nothing. Just… thanks.” 

“For what?” 

“Coming here.” It sounded so lame, and didn’t come even close to all the things he owed Castiel gratitude for. He shrugged, hand clenched around the towel at his waist. It was soft cotton, but it might as well have been sandpaper for the way it rubbed his skin. “You don’t know me. You didn’t have to do any of this.” 

Castiel was quiet, staring out the windows overlooking the back lawn. He shrugged into a robe with an air of someone suiting up for war before looking at Dean over his shoulder. “No need to thank me. I would have done it for anyone.” 

Way to kick an omega when he was down. Dean tossed the towel over a lounge chair and followed Castiel out of the room. He could mope when he was home, he told himself. For now, he needed to act like the badass he was. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Dean had joked about projectile vomit, but one of the alpha’s literally spewed chunks across the snowy white table cloth. Dean bit his lip to contain his laughter and leaned over to clutch his stomach, forcing a groan of discomfort. Okay, maybe it wasn’t completely fake. Castiel had been slipping him bites from his own meals since the start. It would have looked odd to change the habit now. Dean accepted the food and spit it out in the napkin in Castiel’s lap, but he must have swallowed enough to cause him mild discomfort. It was  _ so  _ worth it to see those motherfuckers turn green. 

It was chaos. Benny started barking out orders for two of the guards to escort the alphas and Dean to the infirmary while he took the other omegas back to their rooms. He met their eyes on the way past, the other three omegas huddled together. Dean knew it meant something was about to happen, but since they hadn’t had the chance to talk, he didn’t know what. The only thing he was sure about was that Charlie would already have made the security system her bitch. He could only hope that trusting Benny wasn’t the worst idea he ever had. 

The trip to the basement was accompanied by groans and moans, the lady with the long brown hair threw up in a potted plant on the way to the elevator, and he kept his head down so he didn’t point and laugh like Nelson from The Simpsons. Dean wasn’t sure what he expected when they walked off the elevator and down the hallway, through the swinging doors at the end, but there was… nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary, at least, just hospital beds and medical equipment. The alphas went to lay down on the latter. One of the guards took up a spot by the door, the other standing in the middle, holding her gun like a lover. 

“What the hell are we supposed to do?” he said under his breath to Castiel. 

“I have no idea,” the alpha replied, leading him to the only unoccupied bed left. Dean bit back a groan of frustration. Great. Just great. The door to the hallway swung open and Dean thought it was the doctor except instead of pompous bullshit he heard a thunk and turned around in time to watch the guard stationed in the center of the room go down clutching her shoulder, the report of gunshot echoing around the room. The one by the door was a motionless pile on the floor.

“What the fuck?” 

The beta woman who had just walked in nudged the unconscious guard with one booted foot, leaning down to press a taser to his chest when he groaned. She straightened once he stopped twitching,  _ flipped her hair over her shoulder, _ and said, “I never liked him anyway.”

Dean looked at Castiel. “No, seriously. What the fuck?” 

“I don’t know.” Castiel took a step forward. His eyes narrowed, head tipped to the side. “You were the valet. Mary?”

“Meg. But I’ll let that slide,” she said with a smirk. The guard Meg shot tried to reach for her gun which slid away when she fell and Meg tutted, pointing her own gun at the other woman’s head. “I wouldn’t do that. I like you even less than I like him.” The guard pulled her hand back, pressing it to her shoulder with a grimace. “Smart choice.” 

“Seriously, who the fuck are you?” Dean yelled, the clusterfuck this situation was turning into finally making him snap. Castiel wrapped a hand around his wrist, thumb rubbing circles around the inside of it. He calmed down despite himself, taking a deep breath. Okay, okay. He needed to keep his head. He could freak out when this was over. 

“I’m the cavalry, pretty boy,” Meg said, sauntering toward a cabinet against the wall. She tossed what she pulled out his way and he caught it one handed on instinct. “Put that on.” SHe gave him a once over. “No one wants to see that.” 

Dean let the bundle unfold into a pair of scrub pants. Brow raised, he stepped into the garment once Castiel released his wrist because he didn’t want to make an escape attempt with his dick flapping in the breeze, but snarked, “Excuse you, everyone wants to see this.” 

Meg rolled her eyes. “Benny sent me to make sure these douchebags get locked down while he takes the boys to the tunnel.” 

“Why are you helping us?” Castiel asked, accepting the flex cuffs she gave him, handing one set to Dean. They followed her nod to secure the guards because why not? It was a good idea even if this chick seemed a little crazy. 

“Heard this operation was about to blow up. To be honest, I don’t want to rot in jail and fugitive isn’t a good look on me.” She pauses next to a bed and grabbed one of the blond alpha’s hands, lip curling in distaste when he threw up in the trashcan in his lap. She cuffed him to the bed with a pair of old school metal deals and moved on to the next alpha. 

“Jail?” Blondie McBureaucrat exclaimed, when he stopped hurling long enough to lift his head. “Dick Roman doesn’t do jail. I can pay you to get me out of here. Anything you want. Just name your price.” 

“I’m afraid all of your finances have been frozen,” Dean informed him. He was gloating a little. But he figured he was entitled to it after everything he'd been through. “Plus, you’d deserve to go to jail just for talking about yourself in the third person even if you weren’t an evil piece of shit.” 

“He’s got a point,” Meg tossed over her shoulder after securing the last alpha. “Come on, boys. We got a date to keep.” 

Dean felt better once he had a gun in his hand, the weight of it familiar, the metal warming against his palm. He checked the clip, slid it back in place, and chambered a round, satisfied. The balance was a bit off, and it wasn’t as good as his Colt, but it would do. The calm that came over him on a job settled into his body, making his muscles loose and his posture straight. He cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and put his game face on because he was a damn Winchester. “Let’s do this.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Took you long enough,” Lafitte growled when the three of them reached the entrance to the tunnel. The omegas were dressed in baggy sweats, huddled together against the wall.

“What the hell did you do?” Dean growled back. Castiel stayed with Meg near Lafitte, trying not to breathe too deeply and be choked by the stink of fear, watching as Dean tucked his gun into his waistband. He approached the omegas, hands out, moving with sure even steps, and spoke to them slowly, softly. 

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re alright. We’re gonna get you out of here.” They relaxed a fraction, but their eyes kept darting toward himself, Lafitte and Meg. “Oh, them? That guy’s a cop,” he pointed toward Castiel who wasn't about to clarify that he was an ex-cop, “and those two are, uh, informants. Look, we don’t have a lot of time. There are a bunch of badges waiting for us to clear the premises before storming this place. The people who hurt you,  _ us _ ? They are going to jail for a very long time, but we need to move.” 

“We’re going home?” one of them asked hesitantly, the tallest of the three, his prominent nose broken, and dark bruising under one eye. 

“Yeah. Yeah, we are. I promise.” Dean squeezed his shoulder. 

Castiel could have told Dean it was a bad idea to make promises before everything was over, but he didn’t get the chance because gunfire exploded around them from down the hall. One of the omegas screamed, the three of them huddling together closer, and Dean pulled them into the tunnel, Mastiel, Meg and Lafitte right behind them. Lafitte pushed the tunnel door closed and threw the bolt closed. Rifle at the ready, he met Castiel’s eyes. “Get them out of here.” 

“You can’t take them on alone,” Castiel said, having to almost shout over the noise from the bullets hitting the metal door from the other side. “They’ll get through eventually.” 

The rapports were already slowing down, which probably meant they were ready to try something else. Blow it or cut through it if he had to hazard a guess. 

“He’s not alone,” Meg said, sounding resigned. “Go. Get them out of here. We’ll be right behind you.” They all knew she might not be able to follow through on that, but it wasn’t his responsibility to look after her no matter how awful that sounded. He nodded and went to get Dean and the other omegas moving. 

“Cas,” Dean said, sounding like he was gearing up for an argument. Damn him and his stubborn ass. “We can—”

“Dean.” Castiel cupped the omega’s cheek, forcing him to meet his eyes, needing to touch him. “We have to get them somewhere safe. You know that.” 

“Fine,” he said after a pause, but he didn’t sound happy about it. He pulled his gun out from his waistband and thumbed off the safety. It was… he had to look away because the sight of Dean holding a gun was eliciting a completely inappropriate reaction. Castiel shook his head. Dean turned to the omegas and tipped his head down the tunnel. “Alright, everyone move. We gotta go.” 

Castiel led the way, the omegas between them with Dean watching their six. The tunnel was dimly lit making it hard to see if there were any dangers waiting for them ahead, but he kept his eyes peeled, a feeling crawling down his spine. Dean kept up a stream of chatter, trying to keep the boys calm. 

“So, what are your names? I’m Dean, that’s Castiel.” 

“Uh, Garth,” the tall, lanky kid said with a lift of his chin. 

“Nice to meet you, Garth. What about you?” he asked the one with blonde hair and blue eyes. 

“Alfie,” he said softly. His eyes were darting, sweat beading on his forehead, fine tremors wracking his slight frame. 

“I’m Aaron,” the dark skinned boy said, eyes on the ground. When he looked up, his eyes were harder than someone his age should ever be. “Kevin was the one who died,” Aaron added. 

“We’re gonna make sure the people who did that to him pay,” Dean told him. 

“Yeah, sure,” Aaron said, not sounding like he believed it. 

It didn’t surprise Castiel. They would all need a lot of time to be able to trust anything after this. He had seen it with kids like them before in his work with the police department, but the smell of their fear had lessened and they were talking, holding each other’s hands, looking to each other for comfort. They had walked far enough down the tunnel that they couldn’t hear what was happening with Lafitte and Meg anymore. 

Castiel took a second to glance at Dean and see how he was doing, but that was all it took. Alfie screamed, the sound shrill, and fire seared through his thigh causing his legs to buckle. Using one arm to brace himself against the ground, Castiel kept his grip on his gun and raised his head to glare at Zachariah, standing a few feet away, pointing a gun in their direction. He wasn’t looking at Castiel, though. His eyes were focused behind him and his heart sank when the beta raised his other hand, brandishing a familiar remote. 

“Ah, ah,” he tutted. “Put the guns down, both of you, or I put a bullet in someone else and press this button until you’re all regretting every decision you’ve ever made.” 

Castiel didn’t dare look at Dean, afraid of what he would do, but he put his gun on the ground and pushed it away, lips pursed. Dean’s gun slid past him a moment later. Zachariah smiled and pressed the button on the remote. The pained sounds the omegas made echoed around the tunnel, but he thought he could hear Dean grinding his teeth to keep himself quiet. Castiel was moving before he registered the thought, but his leg didn’t want to support him and Zachariah aimed the gun at him. “I knew there was something wrong with you. Our boy Dean was too good for you.” 

“I’m not your anything, you—” Dean’s insult broke off with a groan when the beta pressed the button again. One of the other omegas started crying. Castiel had never felt so powerless in his life. 

“Be good and maybe I’ll let you live after this.” 

“I’ll do whatever you want, just… just let the others go,” Dean said and Castiel couldn’t not look at him then. Dean glared at Zachariah and it was then, in that moment, that Castiel realized he loved the omega. When it was too late. 

“Aw, isn’t that sweet. But why would I do that? You’re all worth a lot of money and now that this place is burned since I’m assuming you found some way to contact the authorities, we’re going to need to start over somewhere else. You, though,” he said, looking down at Castiel, “You’re nothing but a liability.” 

“Wait,” Dean shouted. His eyes were wide, panic clouding their depths, flicking between Castiel and Zachariah. “I, uh…”

“Get on with it. Some of us don’t have all day,” Zachariah sighed, gesturing with the gun. It made Castiel nervous. 

“Can I say goodbye?” His words were for Zachariah, but he didn’t take his eyes from Castiel. 

“Good Lord.” Zachariah rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. Go ahead. If it’ll stop your theatrics.” 

Dean crawled over to him and pressed their foreheads together. Castiel thought he was leaning in for a kiss, but he stopped right before their lips touched and whispered, “Keep your head down.” 

“What?” Dean dove for the closest gun before the word was even out of his mouth, so fast he would have missed it if he hadn’t been staring at him. “Dean!” 

The gunshots were so loud he flinched, scared what he would find when he opened his eyes. He shouldn’t have. He had heard what Dean was capable of, but hearing and  _ knowing _ were two different things and he’d never been in a situation where someone he loved was in danger. He swallowed, eyes opening slowly. Dean was on his side, breathing hard, the hand which held his gun on the ground, and Castiel’s breath caught, heart seizing before Dean exhaled and looked over his shoulder. “He was a shit shot.”

Castiel looked at where Zachariah was a crumpled heap on the floor, a hole in the center of his forehead, red staining the concrete floor around him. It was reminiscent of when Kevin died. Castiel left him where he was and stood, gritting his teeth against the pain in his thigh. He’d had worse, though he almost fell when he bent to retrieve his gun. Dean was already up, helping the other omegas to their feet. The three leaned against each other. 

“You good?” Dean asked them, getting three nods back. “Then let’s get the hell out of here.” He started then down the tunnel again, herding them past Zachariah’s body. Garth kicked his corpse and Aaron spit on him. When Castiel fell into step beside him, Dean turned his head slightly to look at him, eyes dipping briefly to his leg. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he grunted. Dean’s face said he didn’t believe him, but he didn’t call him out, either. Dean was fine, that was all that mattered. Castiel’s pant leg was soaked through by the time they made it outside. They still had a mile or so to hike to meet the vehicle the feds had waiting for them. He kept glancing over his shoulder, watching for someone else from the compound to give chase or even Lafitte and Meg to catch up with them. 

They were almost there when Dean stumbled. Castiel caught his arm, mentally cursing the fact he hadn’t thought about the fact that he didn’t have shoes like the other omegas. “Dean, are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” he said, but he was breathing heavier than he should have been and he didn’t shake off Castiel’s hand. “Just tired.” 

He didn’t have the luxury of checking Dean over. They needed to push through, get him medical attention when they were safe. Castiel didn’t think he would breathe easy until then. 

Garth, Alfie and Aaron crowded closer to him and Dean when the two SUVs came into view along with the beta agents, one brunette, one blond, standing beside them. 

“Mr. Novak?” the dark haired one asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m Agent Barnes. This is Agent Rogers. Henriksen told us to patch you through when you got here,” the shorter of the two agents said, handing him an earpiece while the taller one opened the back door to one of the SUVs. He swept them with light eyes. “There are ambulances ready at the staging area for anyone that needs medical attention.” 

His words were pointed, no doubt because of his obvious limp, but Castiel said, “I’m fine,” and slid into the front seat of the vehicle Dean climbed into. “Henriksen?”

“Good to hear your voice,” the agent said through the earpiece. “Everything go alright?” 

“The omegas are out. There are two… friendlys still inside. They helped us get out. An alpha male and a beta female. They were taking fire in the tunnel when we left.” 

“Copy that,” the other man sighed. “You like to make things more complicated for me, don’t you?” 

“Maybe,” was all he said. 

“Right. I’ll see you when you get here. What’s everyone’s status? I’ll give the EMTs a heads up.” 

“The omegas are most likely malnourished, all suffering from various wounds.” Dean poked his shoulder and he met the omega’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Reluctantly, he added, “And I have a GSW to the upper thigh. It’s a through and through.” 

“Of course you do,” Henriksen said and Agent Barnes coughed beside him. “I’ll relay that. We’re about to infiltrate.” 

“Be careful.” He went to pull the earpiece out when he heard Henriksen curse. “Victor? What happened?” 

“The whole place just blew,” he said, panting. “Fuck.” 

Barnes cursed and sped up as much as he could over the dirt path. Castiel could see the car following them doing the same. “Did any of your agents enter the premises yet?” 

“Cas? What happened?” 

Castiel held up a finger to signal Dean to wait. Henriksen said no, the sounds of bustling activity in the background. “Was there another way out?” 

“Not that I was aware. The guard we were working with didn’t know of any either besides the tunnel and the front gate.” He closed his eyes thinking about Meg and Lafitte. He hoped they got out, but the chances weren’t looking good. “Might want to send some agents to see if anyone else comes out of the tunnel.” 

“Already ahead of you. We’ll get you all to the hospital and debrief there.” 

“Sure,” he said, feeling suddenly exhausted. He pulled the earpiece out and tossed it in the center console. “The compound blew,” he told Dean because the other omegas were all in the second vehicle. 

“Son of a bitch.” 

“Yeah.” Castiel leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He had a sinking suspicion this wasn’t over. 


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel sat up from his slump when John walked out of the bedroom he and Sam had taken in the hotel. It had been a long night. He stayed at the hospital as long as he could without it seeming strange, especially since he had refused most of the medical attention they wanted to give him, eventually leaving Dean with Charlie curled up at the foot of his bed, trying to ignore the way Dean’s expression was begging him to stay. His omega—it was hard to think of him as anything else now that he realized how he felt—was too strong willed to ask out loud and neither of them had talked about what exactly the future would look like or if they even had one. So, he left, even though every instinct in him was screaming to stay, and spent a long night tossing and turning. 

Dean was fine, he kept telling himself. He was safe. There were officers stationed outside his door at the hospital. Since no one knew for sure if anyone from the compound had gotten away before it blew and with the Feds still unsure how big the operation really was, the omegas had round the clock protection. Lafitte and Meg were under protective custody also, Meg recovering from a gunshot wound to the gut, both of them with burns and contusions from being blasted free of the tunnel when the house blew. There was talk about deals for testifying, but they had no one to arrest. Neither of them had known much about the operation beyond the compound, Lafitte only able to say he knew there were other operations around the country and out. 

Lafitte’s family, a niece in Louisiana, had been picked up and brought to Massachusetts a few days ago. She was in a safe house. When Castiel heard about her and how she had been threatened to keep Lafitte in line it made sense why he’d helped them. Meg was still a mystery, though Castiel thought there was a story there she wasn’t divulging. 

The omega’s families descended on the hospital the day after the escape, the Winchesters included. There had been lots of crying and hugs from strangers thanking him for helping to get their kids safe. He didn’t tell them that it hadn’t been him. It was Dean they should be thanking. 

Henriksen debriefed Castiel after his leg was stitched up. He’d signed himself out of the hospital as soon as he was patched up because they wouldn’t let him see Dean otherwise, telling him he needed to lay down and take it easy. There was no chance of that—he was too amped up. He told Henriksen everything he knew, everything he’d done, the people he had met. Of course the agent had chewed him out for not letting the professionals handle it, but it was too late to change it now. They were still pulling bodies from the wreckage. Most of them were too charred to tell who they were. DNA and dental records were being requested, but it would take time. 

“We’ll keep them safe, Novak,” Henriksen said before he left, giving his shoulder a pat. The agents and officers watching the omegas—and Dean—were all qualified. He knew that, but...

It hadn’t helped him to sleep any better. He had been tempted to sneak into Dean’s room, but he worried about getting caught. More than that, he worried about getting even more attached only to have Dean realize his feelings were based on nothing but a connection forged by them being thrown together and trying to survive. Castiel was being a coward by avoiding Dean now, but he couldn’t make himself just walk away, either. 

John frowned at him on the way to the coffee maker. Castiel knew he looked rough from the lack of sleep. “You know, I would have thought you’d be gone by now. Don’t you have a bar to get back to?” 

Castiel opened his mouth to say something, that the bar was fine with Ellen looking after it, that he worried about the safety of all the omegas from the compound, he felt responsible for all of them now, which he did in a way, but ended up saying, “I can’t leave yet.” 

John’s frown deepened. “What? Why?” John filled a paper cup with the coffee Castiel had brewed an hour ago, leaning back against the dresser. “The Feds need something else?” 

“I can’t leave Dean.” He looked at his oldest friend, asking him to understand, to figure it out, so he didn’t have to admit it out loud. 

John’s face went blank. “No.” 

“I couldn’t have helped it if I tried, John, and Lord knows I did. I tried to ignore it, but—”

John cut him off. “What, are you gonna start spouting fairy tales about fated mates?” 

“No.” Castiel ran his hands through his hair, frustration mounting. “I didn’t expect for this to happen. I wasn’t… I—” He broke off with a huff, letting his hands drop and stood, wincing when his stitches pulled. “Isn’t it better knowing I had feelings for him when we slept together?” 

The punch caught him off guard, but it wasn’t exactly unexpected. Castiel staggered back not able to brace himself, hand pressed to his eye. “I deserved that.” 

“Yeah, you did.” John turned away, set his coffee down. He stared at the wall, one hand braced on his hip, the other wiped across his mouth. 

The silence was pressing down on him. He couldn’t tell what the other man was thinking. They had grown up together, but they hadn’t been close in too many years to count, which was Castiel’s fault. He didn’t know how to make this better, but he knew he had to. He might not be sure he even had Dean enough to lose him to begin with, but being on the outs with his family was a sure fire way for it to be over before it started. The Winchesters were a tight knit group. 

“I know this isn’t exactly ideal.” He paused when John snorted. “We could have gotten out of there a lot easier, you know, but Dean refused to leave the other omegas. Even though it meant he might not make it out himself, he still wouldn’t consider leaving them there, even temporarily. I admire him. He’s a good man. I think I’m in love with him.” 

John spun around at that, eyes wide with shock. Castiel hadn’t even said the words to Dean, yet here he was blurting them out to his father. The other alpha sighed, eyes closing briefly before he pulled the chair from under the desk and sank down into it. “It’s moments like these when I wish Mary were here. I mean, I always do, but…” 

“Yeah.” John didn’t need to say it. 

“She’d probably tell me to get my head out of my ass,” he laughed. “If Dean is happy, then…” He trailed off, tipped his head back, eyes trained on the ceiling like it held all the answers. “I’ve never told that boy he couldn’t do something he wanted to do. Not once. Even when I knew it was something stupid that would get him hurt.” The implication was clear and it stung, but John wasn’t completely off base. Castiel didn’t have the best track record despite being married for years and he had been a dick since his divorce, cutting himself off from everyone. When John looked at him again, his expression was equal parts resignation and warning. “Can’t really start now, can I?” 

“Doubt Dean would listen anyway. He’s a bit stubborn.” 

“A bit? Boy puts mules to shame.” The smile he’d had slid off his face. Pointing a finger at Castiel he said, “I don’t want to hear anything about what you and Dean get up to, you hear?” 

The look Castiel shot him clearly said ‘What am I an idiot?’ John kept staring him down. Castiel threw his hands up. “Fine. I promise not to give you details about our sex life—”

“Jimmy,” John groaned, but Castiel kept talking, pulling out his own chair. 

“That is if Dean even feels the same way I do. I don’t even think I remember how to do this.”

John’s face screwed up. “I hope you aren’t asking me for romantic advice about my kid.” 

“Shut up,” Castiel mumbled. “But maybe.” 

John bit off a curse, leaning back in his chair, lips pursed, but he chuckled. When he spoke, his words were drenched in resignation. “This is all you’re getting as far as you and my kid go. Be blunt. Dean doesn’t work well with subtle. I’m going to grab breakfast before heading to the hospital.” 

With that he stood and retrieved his coffee. On his way to the door, he paused long enough to point a finger at Castiel again. “You hurt him and no one will ever find your body.” 

Castiel didn’t laugh. He knew his friend was serious. 

  
  


* * *

Dean hated hospitals. They smelled weird and all the sick people made it depressing. Plus, the food was awful. He would stab someone for a burger right now and the thing they called pie was a crime against humanity. He especially hated hospitals, though, when he was forced to be here and couldn’t leave. He plucked at the IV running into his arm, knowing better than to pull it out after the nurse had yelled at him last time. Knowing he needed to be here didn’t make it easier to swallow. His body was still recovering from malnutrition and dehydration, on top of all the physical trauma.

They’d sent a shrink in to talk to him, too. He snorted thinking about how well that had gone. He was not talking to some stranger who wanted to poke and prod at all of the mental shit he was barely keeping from exploding. Dean had gone from being locked in one room, to being locked in another. It was making him twitchy, which was the only thing he told the head doc. He wanted to be back in his house, sleeping in his bed, surrounded by all his stuff. He missed his car. 

He missed Castiel. Damnit. If he could have convinced someone to let the alpha sleep in the room with him, he would have tried it. Then again, Castiel might have declined. Or maybe not since he had insisted on riding in the ambulance. The idiot had a gunshot wound in his thigh he hadn’t let anyone look at until he knew Dean was okay. The alpha had gotten to check himself out AMA, too. Dean had tried, but between the badges and his family, he had been overruled. 

The last time the nurse came to check in on him, the beta told Dean that chances were good he would be able to leave tomorrow. Just to the hotel until things were wrapped up, but he had found out that the other omegas were doing good and getting released tomorrow, too. It just didn’t feel soon enough. He wanted to take an hour long shower without the risk of someone coming in to make sure he hadn’t passed out. 

“I’m a damn adult,” he groused, flopping back against the shitty hospital pillows. 

“That’s debatable,” Sam said with a smirk when he walked into the room. 

Dean’s eyes flipped from the door back to his brother. “Where’s dad?” 

“Hey to you, too.” 

“Sorry,” he sighed, “I’m glad you’re here, Sammy. You got no idea. Did dad come with you, though?” 

“Yeah, but he’s talking to one of the FBI guys.” Sam pushed the door closed, a crease forming between his brows. “Why, what’s up?” 

“I, uh.” He fidgeted, pulling at the sweatshirt the hospital had given him. After weeks without clothes everything felt constricting. And why the hell was telling Sam about one night stands no big deal, but trying to talk about Castiel was making his throat tight? He’d tried telling Charlie, but hadn’t been able to get the words out, letting the sound of her voice explaining how she’d broken down the compound's firewall like it was the Black Gate of Mordor after the War of the Ring lull him. He hadn’t bothered to ask what the hell she was talking about, years of experience letting him know it wouldn’t make a difference. Just having her there was enough. 

“I slept with Cas.” Not exactly what he had wanted to say, but it was a start. 

Sam’s brows went up. He pulled one of the chairs closer to the bed and sat, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Are you okay? Did he do something you didn’t want or hurt you?” 

“I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me,” Dean snapped, scowling, but that wasn’t exactly true, was it? “I mean he did. A little. But only when he had to and I told him it was fine. But that’s not the point.” He felt his cheeks go pink under the scruff covering them, his stubble starting to grow back in. His family had given him a new phone and he may or may not have ended up on a few websites about BDSM trying to figure out what had happened the night in the dungeon. It was always there in the back of his mind, his feelings surrounding it muddled and confused. It haunted his dreams--the touch of Castiel’s hands on his skin, his deep voice saying how well Dean was doing, lips pressing against his forehead and fingers in his hair; and his nightmares--Zachariah or one of the other alphas wielding the cane, making him bleed, his heart in his throat when he jerked awake. He tried to shove those nightmares into the box with the rest of them. 

There was a word for the way Dean had felt after. He still didn’t really understand shit. He wasn’t a--his mind shied away from that thought. He wanted to talk to Castiel about it, but would it really matter anyway? The alpha had said he hadn’t done any of that stuff seriously in college, didn’t seem like he’d done any of it since, until rescuing Dean had  _ made  _ him do it, and Dean didn’t think he could stomach someone tying him up or spanking him or whatever, not even Castiel and he trusted the man with his life. Dean wrenched his mind back to now and looked over at his brother. 

Sam’s face was pinched in his ‘I might be your little brother, but I’m still an alpha and I’m going to be a protective asshole whether you want it or not’ look. He loved his brother, but he could be a pain in the ass. “What is the point?” 

“I think it was more than sex,” Dean admitted reluctantly, looking down at the scuffed tile. When the silence stretched, he raised his eyes. Sam’s mouth was hanging open, eyes wide. Dean snapped, “What?”

“You haven’t been serious about anyone since—”

Dean cut him off before Sam could finish his sentence. “Don’t.”

“Sorry. But, Dean, are you sure it wasn’t… I mean, it was a weird situation. What do you even know about this guy? Dad hadn’t seen him in years before this.” 

“I know enough.” He knew Castiel drove him crazy and he could be kind of a dick and he had horrible taste in music, but he also knew the alpha had respected Dean a lot more than most people would have under the circumstances. He had trusted Dean instead of writing him off as a victim who needed to be rescued even if he  _ had _ been there to save him. “It’s hard to explain, and it sure as hell doesn’t make sense, but I think I could love him, Sammy.” 

Someone cleared their throat and Dean knew who it was before he even turned his head. He was getting sloppy. First, he got kidnapped; now, two people in the span of five minutes walked into his room without him noticing. Castiel stood framed in the doorway, one hand gripping the knob, an unreadable expression on his face. Dean felt frozen, not sure if he wanted to run away from Castiel (where would he even go?) or run  _ to  _ him. He felt hollowed out; he hadn’t slept, waking up every few minutes expecting to still be in his cell. He missed the comforting weight and warmth of the alpha sleeping next to him. How the hell had he come to need someone so much, so fast? Dean didn’t need anyone. 

Except now he did. What the fuck? 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Castiel said, breaking the awkward silence. 

“You didn’t,” he said, his voice rough. He had to reach for the cup of water on the table beside his bed. 

Sam took the opportunity to stand and escape. “I should, uh,” he hooked a thumb over his shoulder, “go get some coffee.” 

“Traitor,” Dean mouthed at Sam before he slipped through the door, leaving him alone with Castiel. 

“How’s your leg?” he asked at the same time the alpha asked, “How are you?” 

“The stitches itch,” Castiel said when Dean still couldn’t get his mouth to work, voice hoarse, and he wasn’t really looking Dean in the eye. 

Time to bite the bullet. “Look, about what you heard,” he started to say and Castiel broke in with, “Dean,” but he cut the alpha off. “No, I get it. You were just doing a job. It’s not your fault I got bajiggity… or whatever.” It could have been more than that. Maybe. If Castiel wanted it. 

Dean sighed the last word and rubbed his eyes. His head was hurting, but that was normal lately. He tried not to sound as disappointed as he felt. Disappointed wasn’t even the right word—it was more than disappointment, but it was hard to put a name to something you’d never felt before. “No need to let me down easy. I’m a big boy. In fact we don’t even need to talk about it at all. That sound cool?” 

The hell was even wrong with him? He didn’t care about this stuff. Things ended. He walked away or they did and he was always fine. The one exception being Lisa, but there was a kid involved there. Ben hadn’t been his, but he’d  _ felt _ like he was enough that Dean had forgotten. So, yeah, that hurt more than normal. There hadn’t been any relationship to end with Castiel in the first place, so why did it feel like someone just punched him? 

“No, Dean,” Castiel said and Dean flinched without meaning to. Something gripped his hand, hard, and he opened eyes he hadn’t even realized were closed. Castiel was standing beside the bed, one of his hands curled around his Dean’s and he looked fierce in a way Dean had only glimpsed when he had a gun in his hand and he was guiding a bunch of scared, broken omegas through an underground tunnel and out of a nightmare. Now the full weight of it was pressing on Dean. He wanted to look away and couldn’t. He didn’t want to hash this out because it hurt, but he wasn’t going to admit that out loud. “You don’t get it. I’m not trying to let you down, easy or otherwise.” 

“What?” His mouth might be hanging open. 

Cas raised his other hand to hold the back of Dean’s head, leaned in to press their foreheads together. “I think I could love you, too.” 

“Are you fucking with me?” It was the only thing he could think to say and Castiel jerked back. 

“Why would I do that?” 

“I don’t know,” he snapped because what in the actual fuck was happening right now? “Are you serious?” 

“I don’t tell people I love them every day, Dean,” Castiel said with a frown, voice going into the disapproving register that sent shivers down his spine and usually made him want to push back just to see what would happen, but not now. His mind slammed the brakes. 

“That’s not what you said,” he choked out.

“What’s not?” 

“You didn’t say you loved me. You said you think you could. So, which is it?” 

Determination settled over the alpha’s face, the hand that was still curved around the back of Dean’s skull tightening, not enough to hurt but enough to make sure he had Dean’s attention. The look on his face made Dean’s lungs stutter because it wasn’t just determination, fierce and formidable, there were  _ feelings _ there. They almost seemed to glow in his eyes, the blue so bright they made Dean wonder sometimes if they were real, if he was real, if  _ this  _ was real. Because no one looked at him like that, no one except this alpha he hadn’t expected who rolled into his life at both the best and worst time. 

Castiel’s voice was rougher than normal. “I love you, Dean. Even though I don’t think I should.” Dean felt that like a stab through the gut. He’d been stabbed in his side once. It had hurt like a bitch and that was the closest thing he could equate it to, hearing Castiel say he loved him but he shouldn’t. He tried to pull away and Castiel didn’t let him, pressing their foreheads together again like holding his head up was too much. 

“It was easy in there,” he said, and Dean knew what he meant. That house, that fucking house he was glad was nothing but a smoking pile of rubble now. “There was nothing but survival and you, but it won’t be like that out here. It won’t and I don’t want that for you. Because it’s not fair after everything you’ve been through. I should just walk away.”

“Fuck that,” he said louder than he meant and Castiel’s eyes opened wide, but he didn’t pull away and neither did Dean. He lifted his other hand, the one that wasn’t still held firm in the alpha’s grip, grabbing at the other man’s jacket. “I don’t give a shit about fair. Nothing has ever been fair, not anything in my life. I’ve had to fight for  _ everything _ . Do you think I wouldn’t fight for you, too?” 

“I don’t want you to have to.”

“Well, good thing what I do or don’t do isn’t up to you.” He sighed, feeling so tired, down to his bones. He didn’t think it would be as bad as Castiel was making it out to seem, but if the struggles of them actually being together was the only thing holding Castiel back, Dean could deal with that. It was sweet, in a completely stupid way. “Just answer one question.” 

“What?” Castiel murmured and Dean wanted to kiss him so badly, but he couldn’t—not yet. 

“If nothing else mattered, if there wouldn’t be push back from whoever—my family, yours, fucking strangers—would you want to try?” 

The alpha sighed, his breath brushing Dean’s lips. “Of course. That was never the issue.” 

“Then who cares? Who cares what anyone else thinks? They don’t matter, Cas. And I…” he trailed off with a laugh that sounded too close to tears, shifting to press his head against Castiel’s shoulder. “I’m full of shit. I love you. There’s no  _ think _ about it.”

“Dean,” was whispered into his hair. “I never expected any of this.” 

_ I never expected you _ was left unsaid, but it was there between them and that was fine because Dean hadn’t expected him either. “Can we stop talking now? Cause I haven’t kissed you in days and hate that.” 

Dean turned his head at the same time Castiel did and, Jesus, he’d missed this. It was soft, far softer than any of the kisses they had shared up to now, but it was edged in desperation and all the things they still hadn’t said, the fear they had felt getting to where they were now. Dean was the one who pulled back. Having Castiel close again took away some of the worry he’d had the last few days and his eyes felt heavy when he blinked them open. 

“Get up here,” he said, tugging at Castiel, until they were laying down, pressed together. He didn’t care if the way he clung to the alpha was too telling. No one else was around to see it, anyway. He needed to be as close as he could. 

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be doing this.” 

“Don’t care,” he grunted, scooting down to tuck his nose into Castiel’s neck. “Nurse Cratchet will yell if he comes in, but screw him. I just need to sleep. Haven’t been able to without you,” he admitted because he was halfway there already. 

Castiel didn’t protest any further, hand running up and down Dean’s back. “Me neither,” he said and Dean hummed, eyes closed. There were things that still hung over their heads, the fact that the compound and the organization who ran the trafficking operation was still hanging over their heads and the boss--Alastair--hadn’t been found where he should have been, though the rubble was still being dug through. But for now, he was good. 

He was almost out when something occurred to him, niggling at the back of his mind. “Why do you have a black eye?” 

Castiel stiffened. All he said was, “John.” 

“Oh hell. You told him didn’t you?” he asked, only feeling mildly horrified because things were already hazy from sleep. He was awake enough to connect the dots, though. What other reason would his dad have for punching one of his friends? 

“Yes,” Cas said, sounding reluctant. 

Dean chuckled. “Least now I don’t have to.” 

“Brat,” Castiel said, but there was something soft in the word. 

“You love me that way,” he said, slipping back toward sleep. Castiel admitted, “Yes. I do.” 

A smile curved Dean’s lips. Half asleep he murmured against the alpha’s chest, “Don’t think this is me agreeing to be your sub or whatever.” 

There was a pause, then a kiss pressed to the top of his head. The alpha’s reply was laced with amusement and, he thought, something hopeful. “Maybe sometimes? It’s a good look on you.” 

“Perv,” Dean said affectionately and Castiel huffed a laugh. Before long they were both asleep, curled around each other, on the tiny hospital bed. 

The future was uncertain, but right here, right now, they had each other. They would face anything that came at them together. 


End file.
